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MADAME PRINCE 


By 

W. PETT RIDGE / 

Author of “The Happy Recruit,” “The Kennedy People,” 
etc. 



NEW YORK 

GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 






Copyright, 1916, by 

GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY Y 



DEC -9 1916 ' 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OP AMERICA 


©CI.A446750 

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MADAME PRINCE 


W. PETT RIDGE 


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MADAME PRINCE 


CHAPTER ONE 

T HE first cable tramcars, with their muffled 
groaning over an arduous task, arrived at 
the top of the hill at half-past seven o’clock, 
but sounds came to High Street on the July morning 
at an earlier hour. Delivery of milk was accompanied 
by a rare turmoil, clatter and argument between 
man and boy ; newspapers came into letter-boxes 
with a certain commotion; the postman seemed to 
be giving his alarming double knock at nearly every 
house. Blinds in windows over shops went up, either 
with a spring as though by magic, or in the old- 
fashioned manner, becoming twisted and awry and 
thus opening the day inauspiciously for the maid 
in charge, causing her to say, “Bother!” and “Dash 
it!” and to make other ejaculations of regret. Some 
of the business establishments in the short street 
had a bulging frontage, unashamed of the corpulence 
of middle age; the two or three inns possessed car- 
riage entrances indicating high importance on days 
that were days not quite forgotten by ostlers, now 
elderly and retired. Youths on their road to the City 
went at a trot, if no car happened to be waiting, 
down towards Holloway and the Archway Tavern 
where conveyances could be found in plenty; one 
7 


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MADAME PRINCE 


or two as they passed by the closed dentist’s establish- 
ment and the open door at the side lifted hats 
to the tall girl who was rubbing with chamois 
leather the plate which held the announcement 
“MADAME PRINCE”; they gave this signal 
with shyness not, apparently, quite certain whether 
she desired to be recognised whilst engaged in a 
menial occupation. 

“Eth — el!” called someone from the landing. 

“Rich — ard!” she answered. 

The lad upstairs had scarcely passed the stage 
when the male voice changes ; he chanted an announce- 
ment in recitative form. “Breakfast, I am happy to 
inform you. After a slight delay. For which, believe 
me, I am in no way. Responsible. Is at last ready for 
your. Consider — ation!” In trying high notes with 
the last word, his voice cracked, and sounds of diversion 
could be heard from the floor above. “Frivolous 
geese!” he commented. Ethel, giving to the brass 
plate a final polish, sang her answer, also in the 
operatic style. 

“Kind sir, your news. Has filled me with content- 
ment. I trust to take my place. At the hospitable 
board. In less than half a. Sec — ond !” 

Her two younger sisters were seated at the table 
when she, after rinsing hands, entered the sitting- 
room on the second floor. She said, briskly : 

“Morning, Georgina, Phyllis, I’ve seen you already; 
where’s mother, why do you girls let her do all the 
work?” 

“We offered to help,’’ answered Georgina, mildly, 
“and she said she was in too much of a hurry this 
morning.” 

“The fact remains — ” began Ethel, in the correcting 
way of an eldest sister. “Richard,” to the boy who 
came in, “not quite so much noise, please.” 

“Richard is in capital voice this morning,” said 


MADAME PRINCE 


9 


the youngest girl. “Reminded me of a man I heard 
down in Holloway last Saturday evening.” 

“You want me to ask,” said the boy, acutely, 
“what he was doing, and then, Phyllis, you’.ll answer 
‘Selling coals.' ” 

“Wrong,” she declared. “Geraniums.” 

Clamorous argument ensued on the question of 
whether this could be reckoned a point to Phyllis 
or one to Richard. The mother appeared, carrying a 
tray; at a surprised look from her, Richard subsided. 
Ethel went at once, and assisted. The shining dish 
cover being removed, the boy remarked that he wished 
the day were Sunday, and the meal, in consequence, 
sausages; the mother said a few words on the subject 
of gratitude in relation to poached eggs on toast, 
and issued an order. Heads were bowed over plates 
whilst Richard said grace in an abbreviated style. 

“Amen,” he said, and went on, “some of us were 
talking the matter over in the playground the other 
day, and we came to the conclusion that, excepting 
with people brought up in the country, this sort 
of business was going out of fashion. Religion, I 
mean, and grace, and prayers, and going to church 
and chapel.” 

“Do all of you men with advanced ideas,” asked 
his youngest sister, “feel it necessary to talk with 
your mouth full ?” 

“Clever kid,” remarked the boy. 

“Correct description,” admitted Phyllis. “Mother, 
you have helped everybody but yourself.” 

“Trust me for not forgetting Number One,” she 
said, good-temperedly. “And let Richard talk on. 
We get a lot of conversation here through the day 
from our own sex; at times, I get almost tired of the 
sound of women’s voices.” 

“There are some very clear-headed chaps at our 
school,” declared the boy. “Fellows who argue 


10 


MADAME PRINCE 


matters out for themselves without relying on other 
people.” 

“I suppose it wouldn’t be possible,” inquired the 
youngest girl, “either by arrangement or by chance, 
to make the acquaintance of any of these distinguished 
philosophers? A privilege, I know, granted only to 
the few.” 

“The few,” retorted the boy, “doesn’t include 
you, my caustic friend.” A brief, heated discussion 
took place on the grammar of this remark. The 
mother did not take part, but glanced occasionally 
at the clock on the mantelpiece with the air of one 
accustomed to watch carefully the progress of time. 
Ethel’s decision was taken as final. “In the first 
place,” said Richard, coming back to his subject, 
“they would talk far above your heads. In the second 
place ” He hesitated, and looked at his mother. 

“This is too beautiful for anything,” declared 
Phyllis, amusedly. “What the precious lad wants 
to say is that he would be chaffed about the occupa- 
tion his people carry on.” 

“All very well,” he contended, “but you don’t 
know how sarcastic they can be when they like. 
Of course,” to the mother, “it might be worse.” 

“May Heaven,” said his youngest sister, “in its 
infinite mercy, protect me from ever making close 
acquaintance with any man.” 

“That’s enough,” remarked the mother. She used 
her rights of command but rarely, and the effect 
of this interruption was immediate and notable. 
“We’ll have no more of this, please. One of you 
girls can clear the table.” Ethel, taking charge of 
this duty, found the small crumb brush and wooden 
tray. “Richard, get your books together. Georgina 
and Phyllis, come down with me and open the 
windows.” The boy followed his parent out of the 
room. 


MADAME PRINCE 


11 


“Not cross with me, mother, are you?” he inquired, 
anxiously. 

“No, boy,” she said, “that’s all right. Only we 
must draw the line somewhere.” She bent and 
kissed the top of his head. “And you needn’t ever 
be ashamed about the business. It’s sometimes a 
worrying one, but it’s enabled me to bring all four 
of you up decently, and I’m thankful for it. Give 
these finger-nails of yours another go with the brush 
before you start off.” 

In the showroom, she, with the assistance of the 
two girls, began the work of the day. A costume 
was taken from the shelf of a cupboard, two skirts 
that had slept behind a curtained space against the 
wall were aroused, blouses fitted upon stands, the 
tall mirror received careful attention from a duster. 
Hats, brought out, found themselves set, some upon 
white wooden knob stands, one on a waxen head 
that represented smiling evenness of temper which, 
in certain surroundings and circumstances, proved 
irritating, and was in consequence, going out of 
fashion. The square carpet was of green with no 
pattern; the edges had been covered with a linoleum 
that gave a close imitation of parquet flooring. Tissue 
paper having been picked up and folded for future 
use, Georgina and Phyllis moved to the workroom. 
The boy shouted a farewell from the landing, and 
the mother gave back a cheery acknowledgment; im- 
mediately afterwards sibilant whispering was heard 
from the staircase. “Did you notice how he coloured 
up?” and “Oh, don’t be so silly; you’re for ever 
taking notice of nothing at all.” The two appren- 
tices, stemming a fit of giggles, came into the work- 
room. 

“Morning, Madame,” they said, in respectful duet. 

“Good morning, girls. Nice fine weather you’ve 
brought with you.” 


MADAME PRINCE 


12 


"Warm, walking up the hill,” they remarked. 

"Exercise,” she said, "is good for young people. 
Off with your hats and coats, and set to. Otherwise 
the morning will be gone before anything is done.” 

Her deportment towards them was parental; 
before they started their tasks at the deal table, 
that was covered with white calico, and whilst 
sewing machines came out of cases, and the floor re- 
ceived an effective sweeping, and pins were collected 
and put through canvas, she asked concerning relatives, 
expressed a proper sympathy for misfortunes, listened 
to the apprentices’ news regarding encounters with 
former school-fellows, allowed one to describe a play 
seen the night before at The Marlborough. Ethel 
came to announce that domestic duties were over, 
and to take a share in industry. From her the two 
young learners received, when they talked too freely, 
words of reprimand, and later instruction if one was 
required to go down to Holloway to do some matching, 
or take the larger journey to Oxford Street. The 
apprentices did the simple work — putting bones in, fix- 
ing hooks and eyes and buttons. Georgina was reck- 
oned as an improver; Phyllis, an assistant; Ethel, a 
hand. Aside, Ethel asked her mother for leave to 
prepare the midday meal. 

"Is my sense of observation failing,” whispered 
Phyllis to Georgina, "or am I right in detecting, 
on the part of our admirable sister, a notable eager- 
ness?” 

"Hadn’t noticed anything special.” 

"Great events,” said Phyllis, "are looming in 
the near distance. She is going to beg a special favour 
of some kind, before the day’s out. Mark the words 
of the wise, my child, and see if what I say doesn’t 
come true.” 

They were a well-occupied group, with sewing 
machines rattling, hats in course of trimming taken 


MADAME PRINCE 


13 


to the window that effects might be judged in a good 
light, when a sharp ring came from the bell which 
guarded the door of the showroom. Madame started 
up, glanced at her reflection in the cheval mirror, 
gave a touch to her hair, put on her reception manner, 
and went to the larger apartment. Ethel, commanding 
silence, made an announcement with a dramatic 
gasp, for which the others could find no reason. 

“Mrs. Hilborough !” 

Talk in the workroom was suspended, and sounds 
of business modified whilst the interview took place. 
They heard Madame speaking in what Phyllis called 
her West End voice; it was not precisely an accent 
but a method of speech with a touch of caution as 
one choosing, with deliberation, the coming word. 
Preliminaries in the showroom appeared to deal 
with the extreme height of the neighbourhood. 
Madame, agreeing, believed that we were on a level 
with the top of St. Paul’s Cathedral. The customer 
suggested that this quality, good enough in itself, 
and doubtless an assistance to health, made the place 
difficult of access; she offered a comparison between 
Highgate Village, and her own district of Tufnell Park; 
you could get so easily, she declared, from Tufnell 
Park to anywhere, and from anywhere to Tufnell 
Park. These new motor omnibuses, she considered, 
were a boon to many: for herself, she was, as yet, 
afraid to trust them, for which reason her son laughed 
at her, calling her out of date, and mid-Victorian. 
Coming to more important matters, Mrs. Hilborough 
said there was a special reason just now why she 
wished to smarten herself up, and not look any older 
than she had need to do; she confessed, in a burst 
of candour, that she had come to ask Madame’s 
advice. Grave consultation followed in undertones. 
A stage of early perplexity on the part of the cus- 
tomer with unfinished comments of “Yes, but ” 


14 


MADAME PRINCE 


and “What I’m afraid of is ” and “Well, I really 

don’t know what to say.” Presently, Madame touched 
a bell as a summons to the workroom. 

“I can’t go,” cried Ethel, distressedly. “I can’t 
possibly go. Phyllis, be a dear darling.” 

“Woman,” said Phyllis, rising from her chair, 
“thou art passing strange in thy manner. More of 
this anon.” 

In the workroom, the others heard the customer’s 
exclamation of delight that came so soon as she 
saw the hat placed upon the girl’s head; they knew 
the customer had persuaded herself that a hat which 
became Phyllis so admirably would surely prove 
equally attractive when worn by herself. Ethel, 
listening, pinched her under-lip and murmured 
agitatedly, “Why doesn’t she go, oh why doesn’t she 
go?” Phyllis returned, and announced, in her mock 
heroic way, that the foul deed was done. Another 
ring, and this meant a new customer had arrived, 
and that Ethel’s services were now imperatively 
required; despite a hint from her sisters, she did not 
move until evidence came that Mrs. Hilborough was, 
at last, taking her departure. “Your son is keeping 
well, I hope,” Madame was saying, and the customer 
replied, “He’s right enough so far as regards his 
health, but he seems to have something on his mind,” 
and Madame expressed the polite hope that this would 
soon disappear. A third caller arrived, and to the 
busy workroom came the entertainment of hearing 
exchange of familiar remarks on the subject of holi- 
days at Westcliff, not Southend; at Frinton, not 
Walton-on-the-Naze. The east coast was most invigor- 
ating. Calculated to set one up, as it were, for the 
autumn and the winter. One lady said, in a voice of 
considerable power, that what she liked was a seaside 
town sufficiently refined, but not too refined, if Madame 
understood what was meant by that, and Madame hast- 


MADAME PRINCE 


15 


ened to declare she fully comprehended the intention of 
the statement; the lady, encouraged, communicated 
the fact that her husband had a peculiar desire 
for a quiet holiday, whilst she preferred to mix 
with lively society; Madame, without in any way 
blaming the lady’s husband for holding his own views, 
certainly thought the lady had a right to express 
an opinion, and, if possible, to carry that opinion 
into effect. The lady mentioned that, on this point, 
Madame need have no fears. A future appointment 
was made: Thursday, four o’clock sharp. Ethel, 
when stress of traffic became relaxed, looked in at the 
workroom, and, after inspection of the clock, an- 
nounced that she was now about to devote herself 
to the kitchen. Phyllis urged that life being precious 
to us all, her mother should superintend the pro- 
ceedings there. 

“I want to get more domestic experience,” remarked 
Ethel, in going. 

“A brain wave,” said Phyllis to Georgina, “has 
just occurred to me. I’ll wager you a cool thousand 
we have company at supper this evening.” 

The meal at half-past twelve proved to be one that 
extorted compliments from Madame. The boy Richard 
cleared his plate with remarkable celerity, and the 
general verdict was that, although Ethel could not 
perhaps yet reckon herself a perfect cook, she might 
be depended upon so far as a veal and ham pie was 
concerned. (The two apprentices went out for their 
hour, part of which they usually gave to a confec- 
tioner’s; there followed a stroll in Waterlow Park, 
an open space less attractive to them at this hour, 
because of the absence of admiring young men who 
were to be found there of an evening.) Before 
the rice pudding was finished, Madame had been 
twice called to the showroom. The first time, the 
visitor proved to be no one more important than the 


16 


MADAME PRINCE 


dentist from the ground floor. He brought a large 
spray bunch of Marechal Niels which he tendered, 
with some confusion of manner, on behalf of his sister 
and himself; Miss Warland, it appeared, was too 
busy, at the moment, to come up and take a share in 
the presentation. He asked after the health of Miss 
Ethel. 

“You’ll miss her, Madame, when she goes.” 

“Goes? Goes where?” Madame spoke surprisedly. 

“Leaves the home nest, I mean.” 

“Bless the man!” cried Madame to the roses; 
“whatever on earth is he talking about ? Why, 
Ethel is my right hand. I couldn’t possibly rub 
along without Ethel. What have you got in your 
thoughts, Mr. Warland?” 

“Nothing,” he declared. “Absolutely nothing. 
I only mentioned it for the sake of something to 
say.” 

“Do be more careful in future.” 

“I will,” promised the dentist, eagerly. “And 
I’m very sorry if any remark I’ve made has tended, 
in any way whatsoever, to upset you. I’ve had a 
worrying morning with one or two difficult men 
patients ; otherwise, perhaps, I should be more 
tactful.” 

“Now that you are here, you may as well take the 
cheque for the rent.” 

Mr. Warland contended that there existed no need 
for hurry in this payment, and begged Madame not 
to do him the injustice of suspecting that his visit 
had this object; the sum was scarcely a month 
overdue, and surely between friends, a matter of 
small importance could be allowed to stand over. 
Madame, remarking that friendship was friendship, 
and that business was business, and to mix them 
invariably proved fatal to both, went to her desk, 
wrote out a cheque. 


MADAME PRINCE 


17 


“Thank you very much indeed,” said Mr. Warland, 
gratefully. “I count myself fortunate in the possession 
of such a good tenant. Now, is there anything you 
want done?” Madame shook her head negatively. 
“Think again,” he pleaded. “Fresh papering. Coat 
or two of paint here and there. Repairs. Well,” 
with resignation, “if you won’t, you won’t. What 
time do you start your midday meal? I mustn’t 
keep you from that.” The dentist, on finding that 
he had called Madame from the table, apologised 
profoundly, and, in going, begged pardon of a dress 
stand for knocking it down. Madame reported the 
whole incident in the sitting-room, and chaff was 
directed against Ethel ; the advantages likely to 
accrue to the family in being placed upon the dentist’s 
free list were, not for the first time, pointed out. 
Hitherto, the eldest girl had accepted the form of 
rallying with composure; on this occasion, she ex- 
hibited restiveness, and her mother interfered. Richard 
was to take part in a cricket match; the mother 
went to his room to search for the white flannel suit 
and Ethel’s offer to accompany her — 

“There again!” remarked Phyllis, under her 
breath. 

— Was not accepted. As the chest of drawers was 
opened, and the garments laid tenderly upon the 
counterpane, one had proof of the high place the boy 
occupied in Madame’s heart. 

The four, later, stood at the windows of the show- 
room in order to see him go, and to convey, by waving 
of hands, their wishes for good luck; Madame re- 
mained until the straw-hatted youth turned the 
corner, and then, with a sigh of contentment, turned 
to work. The apprentices came back on extremely 
aloof terms with each other. Miss Lilley brought 
the charge that Miss Bushell had, near the Roman 
Catholic Church, made a remark that was an unkind 


18 


MADAME PRINCE 


remark; Miss Bushell, in defence, said she had been 
misunderstood. A statement intended to be general 
was taken to have a particular reference ; Miss Bushell 
admitted that she, on the spur of the moment, said, 
“Oh, well, if the cap fits you can wear it!” where- 
upon Miss Lilley retorted, “I shall jolly well tell 
Madame, anyway.” Madame, having listened to 
the evidence, said that life was much too short to 
permit of quarrels, that the best plan would be for 
each to speak no word to the other until four o’clock. 
Ten minutes afterwards, Miss Bushell in the work- 
room, unable to endure the punishment of silence, 
begged Madame to exercise mercy, and allow her 
to apologise to Miss Lilley, and Miss Lilley claimed 
the fault to be entirely hers, and on this, peace was 
restored. 

A well-occupied afternoon, with now and then a 
caller, and, at times, the showroom making a spirited 
attempt to rival the parrot house at the Zoological 
Gardens. Impending holidays still formed the main 
subject for conversation, but to Madame’s private 
ear were now and again given more intimate con- 
fidences. Of husbands showing a tendency to return 
late from the City, of servants who were beginning 
to answer back, of strange behaviour on the part 
of a member of a lawn-tennis club, of some new 
people who had come to live in West Hill and 
their deportment and especially the deportment of 
their visitors on Sunday afternoons, of a son who 
was growing too big for his boots, or a daughter who 
appeared to consider herself entitled to do almost 
as she pleased. Certain of the ladies insisted on 
the conference as though it were something charged for 
in Madame’s bill, and if she happened to be engaged 
when they desired her attention, they waited their 
turn, ignoring Ethel’s attempts to act as deputy 
confessor. With those not pressed for time, departure 


MADAME PRINCE 


19 


was a leisurely act. Madame, in listening to their 
statements, edged towards the door, and they were 
compelled to follow her; it was on the landing that 
they took up a more definite position, refusing to 
go down so much as one stair until they had imparted 
information which obsessed them. They continued 
talking as they made slow descent of the staircase. 
Arrival at the pavement did not always mean perfect 
relief; it was possible even then for a talkative 
customer to climb again, and re-enter the showroom. 

“Oh, Madame! I meant to have told you, only 
it quite slipped my memory, something that I think 
you’ll be interested to hear. You remember my 
sister-in-law, the one who used to be dark. Well, 
whatever do you imagine she’s been and done to 
herself now?” 

The even temper of Madame gave the note to the 
whole establishment, and not infrequently com- 
municated itself to customers; all the same, the task 
of dealing with them was exhausting, and the staff 
gave no signs of regret when tea-time came. Ordi- 
narily, Georgina was entrusted with the preparations 
for this ; a simple duty counted well within her limited 
powers; to-day, Ethel, carrying out the new method 
of determined industry, took the work from Georgina, 
and presently recommended that herself and her mother 
should, as a special and conspicuous treat, enjoy 
the meal apart from the others at the open windows 
that looked upon the roadway. 

“You’ve something to say to me, my dear.” 

“Mother,” cried Ethel, the contents of her cup 
imitating the behaviour of the Bay of Biscay in 
contrary mood, “however did you guess?” 

“Tell me what it is.” 

“Supposing — I only say supposing — supposing ” 

“There’s more than that, surely.” 

“Supposing someone should call here this evening 


MADAME PRINCE 


20 


to see me, may I ask him ” Madame happened 

to drop her spoon, and Ethel hurried to restore it. 

“ May I ask him to come upstairs, and will you 

invite him to stay on to supper? He’ll probably not 
want to do so, but I think he’d liked to be asked.” 

“I’d better know his name, dear.” 

“Mr. Hilborough. His mother was here this 
morning. He’s in the cycle business.” The agitated 
girl went on rapidly. “And he’s doing well. And 
he’s really a very nice fellow. And I’m sure you’ll 
like him.” 

“I’m sure I shall try to like him.” 

“It’s a difficult business,” said Ethel, looking out 
of the window, “this sort of introduction. I believe 
plenty of girls remain single all their lives because 
they haven’t the nerve to go through it. You can 
never tell whether the young man is going to show 
off at his best, or not. A good thing for me, mother, 
that you are so helpful.” Madame nodded. “How 
did you manage to get over the difficulty, in your 
young days?” 

“Your father came down for his holiday into the 
country where I lived. We used to let rooms. He 
stayed at our house.” 

“That was lucky.” 

“I wish he hadn’t died when Richard was a baby. 
I’ve been able to bring up my girls all right — at least, 
I hope so — I’m not sure but that a boy needs a man 
to look after him.” 

“My opinion, is,” said Ethel, with emphasis and 
admiration, “that you’re simply extraordinary.” , 

“You’d be saying the same thing,” smiled 
Madame, “but in a different tone of voice, if I had 
decided that Mr. Hilborough was not to come to 
supper, this evening.” 

There were callers after six o’clock (by which 
hour the strong incandescent light over the table 


MADAME PRINCE 


21 


in the workroom had been turned on), and two ran 
up the staircase just before the hour for closing; 
these offered a number of apologies, and brought 
parcels of material to be made into costumes. Madame 
was content with the plea that they had been delayed 
at office, and gave to them and to their requests 
her full attention, but it seemed that her earlier 
manner of bright interest had become slightly dulled; 
she glanced more than once across at Ethel, and checked 
a sigh. The City customers left with many expressions 
of thanks to Madame for giving a decision on some 
nice point of fashion and suitability. The apprentices 
went at seven o’clock. By a quarter past the hour 
everything in the two rooms was cleared and packed 
away. At twenty-past Madame, in the kitchen, 

engaged on the task of making rissoles out of the 
remains of a joint of beef, and Ethel tried her 

hand on a blancmange; Georgina and Phyllis, now 

acquainted with news of the impending event 

“The circumstance which I desire to impress 
upon your undeveloped intelligence,” said Phyllis 

to her young sister, “is that I am rarely, if ever, 
wrong.” 

— These prepared themselves at the toilet table in their 
room, so that in the case of the visitor arriving early, 
someone should be fitted to receive him. Richard, 
home from cricket, and flushed with the triumph 

of scoring twelve, obtained leave to refrain from 
changing his white flannel suit; his further appeal 
in connection with the washing of face and hands 
met with a quick answer, and he proceeded, with 
reluctance, to the bathroom. It appeared, on inquiry, 
that he had home lessons to do: nothing, he pointed 
out, of more importance than a brief essay on Highgate 
and its past, and he urged that half an hour earlier 
in rising the following day would meet the case: the 
other members of the family said, acutely, they knew 


22 


MADAME PRINCE 


him too well to be put off with that. So Richard was in 
the sitting-room writing swiftly in his exercise book, 
and Georgina and Phyllis were nearly ready but not 
quite, when young Mr. Hilborough climbed the second 
staircase, and knocking at the door, cried, “What 
ho, everybody!” 

It was evident from the first that the visitor had 
determined to make a good impression. Richard, 
describing the incident later to Phyllis, confessed 
that he had, in the face of so much politeness and 
such generous compliment, found himself completely 
knocked off his perch. Hilborough asked for per- 
mission to inspect the literary task upon which the 
boy was engaged. Richard knew that essay writing 
was his own strong point, but he had no idea it could 
be the subject of acute admiration; he sat and 
listened spellbound whilst the other, after begging 
for leave to express a blunt, candid, and straight- 
forward opinion — 

“Saves a lot of misunderstanding, later on,” 
remarked Hilborough. 

— Had no sooner read one-half of the first page — 
with its references to Coleridge, and Landseer, and 
Florence Nightingale, and Constable, and other 
notable folk, to Lauderdale House and Cromwell 
House, and the old Gate House Hotel — than he began 
to walk up and down the sitting-room, declaring 
Richard was a born journalist; that Fleet Street 
was the one and only place for Richard; that, on 
leaving school, Richard ought to start upon the career 
indicated with the least possible delay. Hilborough 
was setting Richard on the editor’s chair at Printing 
House Square, when Phyllis came in ; Georgina 
had gone to watch the kitchen whilst the other two 
decked themselves out to receive company. A slight 
check occurred. Hilborough was delighted to find 
Miss Phyllis looking so amazingly well, and Miss 


MADAME PRINCE 


23 


Phyllis mentioned that since an attack of mumps 
at the age of six, she had never been in anything 
but perfect health. The visitor detected resemblances 
between the features of Richard and his sister; 
recital of these failed to give satisfaction to either 
of the two parties. Shifting tactics, Hilborough 
expressed a confident assurance that Miss Phyllis 
found an enormous amount of interest in her daily 
work: Miss Phyllis replied that she hated and loathed 
the business, and was prepared to look upon the day 
that released her from it as the happiest of her life. 
On Hilborough offering some gallant remark con- 
cerning the probability of young men of Highgate 
showing good taste in making a choice — “Phyllis 
is their only joy, sort of thing” — she stared at him 
in a perplexed way, thereby reducing him to a state 
of confusion, from which he was rescued by the 
entry of Ethel. 

“Hullo, old girl,” he cried. “And how’s the world 
using you by this time? As well as you deserve, 
I s’pose. Eh, what ?” 

At the familiarity of the salutation, Richard flushed 
with annoyance and with astonishment : Phyllis 
took him to the window, and spoke privately. The 
boy shifted from one foot to another, looking over 
his shoulder in an aggressive way at the intruder. 

Georgina came with a clean table-cloth, and received 
the introduction in a shy manner that increased when 
the visitor, taking up again his methods of earnest- 
ness, asked to be allowed to help; it was when he had 
upset the salt from the cruet stand that Ethel suggested 
he might abstain from interference, and occupy a 
seat near the window. 

“Mr. Hilborough, mother,” said Ethel, presently, 
in a voice not quite under control. “Peter, this is 
my mother.” 

“I understand, ma’am,” said the visitor ingrati- 


24 


MADAME PRINCE 


atiqgly, “that you like being called Madame. I need 
scarcely say that I am prepared to fall in with your 
views in that respect, or any other that you care to 
indicate. I had the honour of meeting your eldest 
daughter for the first time last winter at a lecture 
round here at the Institute, and since that time, I 
think I am right in saying — Ethel will correct me 
if I am wrong — since that time friendship has ripened 

and increased, and ” The young man looked 

around at members of the family as though expecting 
them to prompt him; a hopeless aspiration. “And 
multiplied,” he went on desperately, “and increased 
and ripened.” 

“Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Hilborough. I 
wasn’t aware that you and Ethel had known each 
other so long.” 

“Parents can’t expect to be told everything.” 

“I suppose not.” 

“My mater is one of your patronesses, Madame, 
I believe. The pater’s been gone now for nearly three 
years, and, from what I can gather, she has some idea 
of taking Number Two. Can’t blame her, can you? 
You’d do the same yourself, I expect, if you had 
the chance.” 

“No,” answered Madame. “But it is a subject 
on which I couldn’t dictate to other people. Have 
you any brothers or sisters?” 

“I’m the only one.” 

“I see,” she remarked. “So that if your mother 
married again, you would probably be left to look 
after yourself?” 

“What I specially want to guard against,” he 
admitted, “is the risks of being done in the eye 
by some London landlady. The mater has always 
taken care of me, and if I went into rooms, I sh’d 
be like a lamb led to the slaughter, if you understand 
what I mean.” 


MADAME PRINCE 


25 


“Talking of lamb,” interposed Ethel, with signs 
of mental strain, “shall we see about supper?” 

“I’m quite prepared,” said the young man, “to 
show what I’m capable of doing with a knife and 
fork. The truth is,” to Phyllis, “I go across to Holborn 
Viaduct station at about half-past twelve for a snack 
of something, and I never touch anything solid with 
my tea, so that by the time an evening meal comes 
along, I’m just about ready to welcome it. Occasion- 
ally, I begin to doubt whether it’s wise of me to go 
so long without food. I get half empty a sort of feel- 
ing, and it’s no use you telling me that’s a good sensa- 
tion for anyone.” 

“If I made any remark to that effect,” said Phyllis, 
“I withdraw it, and apologise.” 

“Not making fun of me, are you?” he inquired, 
apprehensively. 

“You are doing that,” answered the girl. 

Ethel called her younger sister out of the room. 
There, she made an agonised, whispered appeal. 
“Phyllis,” she begged, “I can trust the others, 
but I can’t trust you.” And Phyllis said, comfortingly, 
“That’s all right, Ethel, I’ll behave myself like a 
little lady. Only, you know, he is pretty nearly 
the limit.” Ethel assured her that Mr. Hilborough 
improved on acquaintance. 

Indeed, at the meal, the youth, although he still 
talked too much, did contrive to set himself in a 
more favourable light. Madame, seizing an oppor- 
tunity, turned the conversation to the cycle business, 
its early days and present state, and young Hilborough, 
switched on to a topic that really interested him, 
spoke easily, and spoke well. Even Richard, who 
had begun to treat him with undisguised antipathy, 
showed attention, and put inquiries, and, on finding 
that guest had, in the previous year, won a conspicuous 
race on the Tufnell Park grounds, nodded across to 


26 


MADAME PRINCE 


his now contented eldest sister to indicate approval 
of the engagement. Hilborough, it seemed, had cups 
at home, gained in this manner. (“You’ll have the 
job, some day, of keeping ’em bright,” he said to 
Ethel. “Requires some elbow grease, mind you!” 
Ethel took the appearance of one promised joy that 
was above all ordinary estimation.) At his place of 
business he found, in the triumphs which the cups 
represented, a great advantage, inasmuch that callers, 
recognising either him or his name, accepted, without 
argument, his counsel and his directions. He knew 
all about Coventry, and the firms that had works 
there. Madame could remember hearing Mr. Prince 
say that the town once had a name for ribbons. 

The table cleared, he sat next to Ethel, and took 
her hand. Phyllis, by an effort, restrained herself 
from offering any comment; Georgina stared at the 
procedure with open curiosity; Madame took no 
sort of notice, and Richard had been bought over 
by a promise that when a bicycle was wanted, he 
should have the machine at twenty-five per cent, 
off the ordinary price. Hilborough and Ethel talked 
to each other in undertones, and Madame, to relieve 
the situation of some of its awkwardness, gave a 
command. Phyllis, crossing to the pianoforte set 
in the corner, obeyed. 

“The prettiest,” declared Hilborough, looking 
around, when Phyllis came to the end, “absolutely 
the nicest song I’ve listened to for many a long day.” 

“It was the overture to ‘Oberon,’ ” Ethel pointed 
out. “But you were not far wrong. Phyllis does sing. 
She is helping at an open-air concert in a few weeks’ 
time.” 

“Hope it’ll be a fine evening,” he said, carefully. 

Even when a hint was given concerning Richard’s 
usual hour for going to rest, and the boy, to obtain 
an extension of licence, suggested a game of “Happy 


MADAME PRINCE 


n 


Families,” and Madame gave permission on the under- 
standing that he would go off, without demur, at 
the half hour — even then the young couple could not 
pretend to disguise their affection. Richard, playing 
the game in the manner adopted by the house, begged 
to trouble Ethel for Miss Dope, the doctor’s daughter, 
and Ethel answered briskly, “Not at home! Peter, 
I’ll trouble you for Mrs. Bung, the brewer’s wife,” 
and young Hilborough protested that she must have 
looked over his shoulder, and Ethel declared this to 
be a most wicked story; one for which she would 
never, never forgive him, and Hilborough said if he 
had made a wrong accusation he was sorry, and 
reminded her of an incident that occurred once in 
Highgate Wood when she, for charging him with 
being ten minutes late, had similarly been forced 
to apologise. Affectionate reminders followed this 
of other slight differences in the past, and it was 
Phyllis who recommended a greater concentration 
on the sport. Madame, showing great alertness in 
identifying the possessors of cards which she required, 
and, presently, able to announce that her sets were 
completed, glanced at her eldest daughter. This, then, 
was the explanation of Ethel’s generous offers to go 
out to post of an evening, or to obtain articles from 
shops in Holloway. This accounted for the fact that 
errands had sometimes taken a longer time than 
seemed necessary. 

“Wish she’d told me,” said Madame to her sets 
of picture cards. 

The departure of Richard caused the visitor to 
say that he, too, had to see about getting away home, 
and going to bye-byes. Madame offered a hospitable 
word of protest, and Hilborough gained permission 
to light a cigar; Ethel insisted upon striking the 
match for him, and when difficulties were encountered 
he became greatly amused. 


28 


MADAME PRINCE 


“Shews I’m in love,” he cried. “Here am I, 
trying to smoke a cigar, and Fve forgot to bite off 
the end of it! If I’m not careful, I shall find myself 
in Colney Hatch. Love or religion, I believe, one 
or the other is responsible for most of the cases there. 
And now I positively must say farewell, Madame: 
much obliged to you for your kindness, hope you’ll 
let me call again soon; Miss Phyllis, don’t be too 
sarcastic in talk with the sex that is opposite to yours, 
because, good looking as you are, they don’t all like 
it; Miss Georgina, we haven’t been favoured with 
much from you this evening, but perhaps you’re like 
a lot of the quiet ones, able to chatter away thirteen 
to the dozen, once you’re started; Ethel, my girl, 
it is now at once your privilege and your duty to 
see me off the premises, and bid me a loving farewell 
at the front door, and then come back and count 
the silver. I think,” glancing around with content, 
“I think that settles everybody.” 

“Nearly!” murmured Phyllis. She remarked to 
her mother as the visitor went down the staircase, 
accompanied by Ethel, that an additional five minutes 
would have caused her to scream aloud. 

Georgina was twice called from the landing below; 
she had gone down furtively to gain some idea of 
the conversation between young people in love. 
Time went on, and the two were reported to be still 
talking in undertones at the street door. On the 
suggestion of Phyllis, seconded by Georgina, the girls 
went off to their room, thus evading the difficulty 
of giving the congratulatory words expected by their 
elder sister. Madame found her account books, 
brought the double inkstand that provided black 
and red, and set upon the task of picking the few out- 
standing items, making up bills that were headed 
with ornamental scroll of the name, the words “Modes 
et Robes,” and in a more familiar language the 


MADAME PRINCE 


29 


announcement that the firm was established in 1897. 
As she wrote “To a/c rendered,” and “The favour 
of an early remittance will greatly oblige,” Madame 
glanced at this date. Ethel was then a child going 
to school, and notable for a faithful obedience to 
her mother’s orders, industry in helping to look after 
the younger children; her chief defect a habit of 
growing out of her clothes, and for this she could not 
be saddled with the entire responsibility. A serious 
question, all the same, for new clothes had to be 
obtained for Ethel when the occasion demanded, 
whilst the other two received as a legacy the discarded 
garments. And now she was saying good-bye to her 
sweetheart. Now the amazing young man was prob- 
ably kissing her lips. Now, in the shadow of the 
doorway her arms were, likely enough, around his 
neck and Ethel was telling him he was the most 
wonderful man in all the world, and Hilborough was 
declaring his only ambition was to make himself 
worthy of her. Madame discovered that the figures 
she wrote declined to remain where she placed them; 
she covered eyes with hands, and leaned upon the 
table. The distant clanging of the bells of a fire-engine 
came to her; she started up and, impelled by the 
curiosity that the sound creates, found a white shawl, 
threw it over her head, hurried downstairs. The door 
there was open : no signs of either Ethel or Hilborough. 
High Street was busy with folk jostling to and fro 
in the rain that had started. The old-fashioned 
taverns had been deserted by their patrons. 

“Whereabouts is it?” folk demanded eagerly of 
each other. “Whose place? Is it far off? Any lives 
in danger?” 

Madame went to the corner and looked along towards 
Pond Square. There, oblivious of fires or any events 
that might be counted important by ordinary people, 
the two lovers were strolling, arm-in-arm, heads near 


30 


MADAME PRINCE 


together. As Madame returned, a neighbour gave 
the information, in lachrymose tones, that the alarm 
had proved to be ungrounded; horses and engine 
were already on the way back to the station; the 
disappointed neighbour spoke of the whole incident 
as a shame, and a swindle, a rare old bit of humbug. 
Madame, agreeing that there was nothing to be said 
in defence of mischievous folk who sent fictitious 
calls to the brigade, pointed out that it was better 
that one’s gloomy anticipations should not be realised ; 
she went on to remark that similar cases happened 
in this world every day and to everybody. 

“I can only remark,” declared the neighbour, 
preparing to go indoors with an increased air of 
melancholy, “that I envy you, Madame, your dis- 
position. It’s a great gift, if you only knew it, to be 
able to look on the cheerful side. For my part, I 
did hope that something was going to happen in the 
Village to break the monotony.” 

When Ethel came up, two steps at a time, and 
humming cheerfully, and bouncing into the sitting- 
room, hugged Madame, and cried : 

“Oh mother dear, I am so happy.” 

Then Madame said that why, of course, her eldest 
daughter was happy, and might well be happy : 
asserted that she too felt pleased that Ethel had 
made such a good choice, and, answering anxious 
questions, declared the visit of young Hilborough 
had made an excellent impression. Ethel hinted that 
Mr. Hilborough’s surface methods did not always 
obtain the approval of folk whom he met. Madame 
said there existed many qualities of greater value. 
Ethel admitted that Peter had a singularly fine 
and noble disposition; Madame, in spite of brief 
acquaintance, was perfectly sure of this. 

“You are not going to stay up any longer, mother?” 

“Only to finish my books, dear.” 


MADAME PRINCE 


31 


“I’d offer to help, but ” 

“I know, I know. You want to think. Run along. 
Turn the light out when you are in bed.” 

Madame goes on now with her work of calling the 
attention of customers, possessing defective memories, 
to the circumstance that accounts have not yet been 
paid. This done, she finds in her desk a volume 
held by a lock which the smallest key on her bunch 
opens. A well-bound volume, “Presented to my 
dear Wife on the first Anniversary of our Wedding 
Day.” The index shows four names, written in at 
various times, and these names take an equal share 
in the book. The first begins, “Born, April 30th, 
1886,” and is followed by more dates and short 
paragraphs such as “Said Mam — man, on St. Valen- 
tine’s Day, 1887,” and “Walked with aid of sofa, 
June 4th, 1887,” on to a much later period where 
it stated “Left school, and came into the business,” 
and “Went to her first dance,” and other notable 
occurrences. 

Madame writes, after a glance at the almanack, 
the current date, and adds, in her firm business-like 
hand, two lines to the records of her eldest daughter. 
“One from four,” she says rather wistfully, “leaves 
three!” 


CHAPTER TWO 


T HE neighbourhood became apprehensive in 
regard to hats and costumes as holiday time 
drew near. The anxiety was not restricted 
to the sex which gave its orders at Madame’s; City 
men, whose position in offices enabled them to choose 
the month in which their fortnight or three weeks 
should be taken, impressed upon tailors there — as 
suits in an elementary stage and with the appearance 
of mere linings were fitted on, pins adjusted, chalk 
lines marked, and differential suggestions given con- 
cerning the padding of shoulders — that five o’clock 
p.m. on the Friday before the Bank Holiday was the 
latest hour that could be permitted for delivery of 
the parcel. And, just as in Gracechurch Street with 
all the turmoil of commercial affairs, there came an 
added running to and fro of black-haired youngsters 
carrying alpaca covered bundles from the East End, 
and knowing enough of their business to keep away 
from customers who assumed that manufacture took 
place on the premises, so, up at the top of the hill 
in the district known to postal authorities under the 
initial N. there was considerable bustle in the rooms 
occupied by Madame, with every daughter, and both 
the apprentices, working all the hours the law per- 
mitted them to occupy; now and again, swift despatch 
of one of the girls down to Holloway or the West 
End for some material, or trimming, or buttons, 
necessary for the completion of an order. At times 
appeared a difficult lady customer who had taken 
32 


MADAME PRINCE 


S3 


an excessive space in making up her mind and now 
arrived at the last moment, expecting to take a first 
place in the queue, and to receive the exclusive and 
immediate attention of Madame. Madame, in spite 
of the harrying, preserved evenness of temper, 
excepting in the case of two women from a road near 
the Archway Tavern, who entered the showroom 
with a great air of confidence; their voices were 
rather loud, and their features had a colour that 
exceeded the signs of good health. Madame sent 
Georgina to the workroom with imperative instruc- 
tions to stay there and close the door, and herself 
went forward to receive the new visitors. They had 
been recommended to Madame, they said, by a friend 
whose name for the moment escaped them ; they 
expected it would come back to memory so soon 
as they quitted the establishment. No, they were 
not prepared to pay a deposit; indeed it shocked 
their sensitive natures to find this suggested. One of 
them presently took Madame aside, and appealing 
to her as a woman of the world, open-minded and 
not puritanical, made a candid statement. “We’re 
going down to Brighton, on spec., you see,” she 
mentioned, “and you’ll get your money when we 
come back.” Thirty seconds later they were descending 
the staircase, blaming each other noisily for failure 
of the experiment, and giving an opinion of Madame 
that did not err on the side of leniency. Madame and 
Ethel spoke apart, with agreed asperity regarding 
the incident. “The impertinence!” ejaculated 
Madame. Georgina, allowed to return from the 
workroom, urged Phyllis as a sister and a chum, to 
tell all that had happened, and Phyllis, junior to 
the other by a year and a half, answered that Georgina 
if told, would not understand. 

Compensation had been promised for all the addi- 
tional demands made upon eyes, hands, and general 


34 


MADAME PRINCE 


serenity, and compensation came early on the Monday 
morning, when the shops in High Street remained 
closed, and folk from the neighbourhood of Holloway 
Road mounted the hill, playing mouth organs, and 
having all the appearance of invaders. The song of 
the period was given in high soprano, and in growling 
bass; staid residents of The Village looked on through 
deflected laths of blinds, and said, with a click of 
the tongue — 

“Dear, dear ! What strange ideas some people 
have of enjoyment!” 

And went back to the breakfast table to read, 
with appetite, the details of a murder in South London. 

The party caught an early car down the hill, and 
an omnibus from the junction of roads to London 
Bridge station. Ethel was left; she and young 
Hilborough were to meet at ten o’clock and cycle 
out northwards. “Far from the madding crowd,” 
he said, on his post-card, and Ethel quoted the phrase 
to her mother as proof of the writer’s acquaintance 
with literature. So the group consisted of four, with 
Richard, important as became a man responsible 
for the care of three ladies and a cardboard box, 
and none the less assured in manner because a hint 
had been given that it was just possible he might 
not return to school after the holidays. A moment 
of peril came when the motor omnibus stopped near 
the Angel, and in spite of the attentions of the 
driver and the advice given by an interested crowd, 
refused to budge. Madame, watching the clock, 
was about to take the extreme step of chartering a 
cab, and rose to give the word of command to her 
family; other passengers were speaking regretfully 
of the disappearance of the old horsed conveyances — 
“You did know what they would do!” — when the 
omnibus gave a rattling sound to indicate that sulkiness 
was over, and re-starting, took them towards the 


MADAME PRINCE 


35 


City, and through the empty thoroughfares of the 
City, and across the bridge in excellent style, pulling 
up in the station yard with ten minutes to spare 
for the party to catch their train. The margin was 
not too good in view of the long line of folk at the 
booking office; Richard took the money and going 
near the opening begged, in polite tones, of one or 
two fortunately placed that they would be so very 
kind as to obtain for him four third day returns, 
and they answered without hesitation that this could 
be hanged for a tale: it was for him to go and take 
his proper place, and wait his turn with the rest. 
On this, Phyllis took the coins, and selecting a mild 
youth gave a definite order with which the mild 
youth immediately complied, handing her, in his 
confusion, not only the four tickets and her change 
but also his own ticket and his own change, and 
declaring, when she adjusted the blunder, that she 
was heartily welcome to the lot. They raced up the 
incline to the platform where a crowd stood at the 
edge, with people saying disconsolately that it was 
simply impossible, and, at any rate, most unlikely, 
for all to find room in the coming train. Madame 
tracked an inspector who seemed desirous of taking 
ambush against a host of questions. 

“You won’t have to change,” he answered curtly, 
without looking at her. “All you’ve got to do, when 
the train comes along, is to jump in sharp, and stick 
there until you get to your destination.” He added 
the suggestion, familiar with railwaymen, that some 
people, in travelling, should take a nurse. 

“Is your sister still in Guy’s, Mr. Flint ?” 

“Bless my soul,” cried the inspector, amazedly, 
“if it isn’t Milly Hammond. Won’t the wife be pleased 
to hear about this when I get home this evening! 
And how young you’re looking to be sure! You can’t 
be far off forty, you know.” 


36 


MADAME PRINCE 


He offered excuses, on being introduced to the 
three young people, for having called their mother 
by her maiden name, explaining that recognition 
had the effect, for the moment, of causing him to 
forget himself. The two girls and Richard did not 
appear to be quite certain that they approved of 
this friendliness on the part of a uniformed man: 
they gave up any prejudices that existed when, 
the train arriving, he took charge of them, found a 
carriage key, opened the door of a first-class compart- 
ment, helped them in, locked them in, and spoke 
a private word to the guard. Richard was about 
to give him threepence, but Madame arrested the 
commission of this blunder. The inspector begged 
that if anyone down at the old place should, by 
chance, inquire after him, the information was to 
be given that he was overworked and happy. 

Thus the Highgate young people were able to sing 
on the way, occupying corners and using the elbow 
straps in the luxurious manner of wealthy travellers. 
Madame could announce the names of stations, 
although at some the train did not stop : she knew 
the exact time occupied in going through Sevenoaks 
tunnel, gave warning of the jerk that came just before 
reaching Tonbridge. After the train left that junction, 
she showed an increased excitement, identifying farm- 
houses, and hop gardens, and oast houses, recognising 
folk who went in carts along roads that ran parallel 
with the railway; her two daughters and Richard, 
without sharing her acute interest, began to make 
preparations for leaving the aristocratic compartment. 
Georgina pointed out that the door which would 
find itself alongside the platform of the station was 
locked, and sketched a gloomy scene wherein an 
official being called to open the door might suspect 
that they were not first-class passengers ; the enormous 
excess fares demanded would, Georgina hinted, cloud 


MADAME PRINCE 


37 


the rest of the day. Richard put his head and half 
of his body out of the window space, ignoring the 
agonised appeals made by the rest, and inserting 
the ferrule of his walking stick, managed to turn 
the lock, a creditable but, as it proved, an unnecessary 
feat, for at the moment the train stopped the guard 
was there, one finger at peak of cap, and ready to 
assist the privileged travellers to the low platform; 
by no means unwilling to accept the silver coin offered 
by Madame, prepared to guarantee that if they 
caught his train on the return journey, he would 
keep a good look-out for them, and assuring them 
on his word of honour that they were in for a warmish 
day. Outside a small wagon stood with a horse so 
large and so strong that to draw it — no matter how 
many folk were crowded in — was obviously to him 
nothing more than a holiday task. 

“So then/’ said the man in charge, shaking 
hands in a grim defensive way, “you’ve contrived 
to make your way down here once more, and land 
yourselves on me at my expense.” 

“We’ve had a very pleasant journey, Jim.” 

“Your sister wanted me to have out the dog-cart, 
but I said, ‘Jig£ ere d if I do! People as invite them- 
selves for the day must be prepared to rough it a 
bit like the rest on us do all the year round.’ Up 
you get, all of you. You’ll have to walk back this 
evening, mind!” 

“Isn’t there a ladder, uncle?” inquired Phyllis. 

“Not unless you’ve had the foresight to bring 
one with you.” 

The wagon contained threfc Windsor chairs. Richard 
with a foot on the axle, jumped up, and handed over 
the side one of these, and assisted in this way, the 
ladies managed to get into the conveyance. “Be 
you going to leave this behind you?” demanded the 
uncle, who had watched the proceedings with a kind 


38 


MADAME PRINCE 


of stolid amusement. Richard jumped down and 
handed up the chair to his mother, climbed once 
more, and was able to announce that all was ready. 
The giant horse started at a precise, methodical 
rate, and his driver, between adverse criticisms of 
the animal’s behaviour, jerked remarks over his 
shoulder to Madame. 

“One of ’em looks a bit peaky.” 

“That is Georgina,” said Madame. 

“T’other one’s improved,” he announced, grudg- 
ingly. “As pretty a pair of ankles as I’ve seen 
since my courting days.” 

“A refined and courteous gentleman,” mentioned 
Phyllis to her sister. “Evidently belonging to the 
old school.” 

“Jim Lambert were a bit of a masher with the 
gals in those times,” said the uncle of himself con- 
tentedly. “He’s give it all up now, but there’s people 
still living ’bout that could give you information to 
the same effect.” 

“So I’ve heard,” remarked Madame. 

“What have you heerd?” he demanded, angrily. 
“Who’s been telling you things concerning me ? 
I’d stop some of their mouths if I could only come 
across ’em, and no half measures neither.” As a 
temporary act of justice, he whipped the large 
horse. 

“What you going to do with that clumsy 
hulking boy of yourn?” he asked presently, indicating 
Richard. 

“He is not clumsy,” replied Madame; “he is not 
hulking, and I haven’t decided what kind of 
business he will take up.” 

“Don’t let him touch farming, that’s all.” 

“I suppose,” said Madame, anxious to be con- 
ciliatory, “that it’s been a pretty bad year?” 

“Jim Lambert has done as well as his neighbours,” 


MADAME PRINCE 


39 


he retorted, “and I ain’t sure, if the truth was known, 
he hasn’t done a bit better.” 

“Glad to hear it.” 

“Got nothing to do with you,” snapped the difficult 
Mr. Lambert. “When your views are wanted, they’ll 
be asked for. Either of these two gals got a young 
man yet?” 

“Not yet.” 

“They’ll find ’emselves left on the shelf, if they 
ain’t careful,” he declared. “And that’s a hard place 
for any female to rest on, plump as she may be.” 

“The fascinating detail about country people,” 
remarked Phyllis to Georgina, “is that they give 
their opinions, not only with candour, but with perfect 
delicacy.” 

It was a relief to see a white apron waving in the 
distance; a signal that there was in store something 
more like a welcome than had been experienced on 
the journey from the station. Madame’s sister was 
at the gate of the farm; a few years older than 
Madame, she looked several years older, a fact for 
which the companionship of Mr. Lambert might be 
held to be partly responsible. There was no lack 
of warmth in her greeting; she helped in the descent 
from the wagon and embraced each visitor with — 

“Well, but it does my ’eart good to see you again, 
my love !” 

The while her husband looked on, nodding his head 
slowly to intimate that this behaviour but confirmed 
his moderate opinion of her intelligence. He flung 
the reins over the big horse, roared a call for 
David and went off in the direction of the Sidney 
Arms. 

“Oh, I be amongst the middlings,” said the young 
man who came out to see to the horse and wagon. 
He answered Madame’s inquiry with a chuckle. 
“Can’t expect to get no better at my time o’ life.” 


40 


MADAME PRINCE 


He winked to indicate that this was not to be taken 
literally. 

“Tell me, David,” said Phyllis. “How is Mrs. 
Jakins ?” 

“She re — members !” cried David, throwing his 
hat on the grass which bordered the road, and giving 
himself up to extravagant joy. “The young lady 
recollects everything what she heerd when she were 
down here last.” He shook with amusement. “Bin 
saying to myself I have since postman told me as 
you were all coming, T shall get something from the 
youngest gal about me walking back from chapel 
with the widder.’ Dang my old eyes,” said David, 
more soberly, “what a thing it is to have bright 

people about you, instead of ” He stopped just 

in time. “I’d better see to the old horse,” he said. 
“Otherwise, he won’t like it.” 

There was a home-made cake, and there was home- 
made wine, set on the inlaid oval table that took 
up nearly all the space in the best room, and the 
Londoners gave to their hostess a genuine pleasure 
by the attention paid to the refreshments. The boy, 
now relieved of the cardboard box, was warned by 
his own people not to over-eat himself, and by his 
aunt that he would not sit down to a meal until two 
o’clock. He acted upon the second hint. The card- 
board box untied, two blouses were brought out — 

“Now,” said the aunt, again, embracing her sister, 
“this is nice and kind of you.” 

— The effect judged, and pronounced, even by the 
donor to be admirable. Also a hat of which the 
recipient said that Jim, she feared, would never allow 
her to wear it, but she accepted it, all the same, and 
promised to put it away amongst her greatest treasures ; 
she gave a promise that if the chance ever happened 
along of sporting it, unbeknown to Jim, she would 
most certainly do so. Whilst the young people went 


MADAME PRINCE 


41 


out to stroll through orchards, under the guidance 
of the admiring David, and to smell the young hops, 
the two sisters enjoyed their annual confidences. 
Emma Lambert said of Jim that he could be as 
pleasant as pleasant when he had put himself outside 
two or three glasses of old ale; she hoped this would 
be his attitude when he came home for the meal 
of the day. Emma furnished two or three illustrative 
incidents of the past twelve months, and for the rest, 
pointed out that when a man proved sulky, and that 
man was your husband, the wise course to adopt 
was to abstain from saying anything likely to 
aggravate his condition. 

“Course, I know well enough what people are 
saying,” she went on; “but I don’t worry my noddle 
much about that. Goes in one ear, and comes out 
t’other. They can call me a slave, and a down-trodden 
woman jest as much as ever they like : it’s me what’s 
got to go through with it, and it’s for me to decide 
what’s best to do.” 

“Wouldn’t do him any harm,” suggested Madame, 
“for you to talk to him straight, just once.” 

“The thought has entered my head, but there 
it’s remained.” 

“Shall I have a turn at him ?” 

“Rather you didn’t, my love,” pleaded the sister;' 
“if you don’t mind. It ’ent really so trying as you’d 
imagine. And when he goes up to the Borough, in 
the course of a month or two, with his hop samples, 

I shall be anxious, bless you, from the moment he 
leaves to the moment he comes back. For fear any 
thing amiss should happen to him. And when he 
gets home safe, I shall be wishing he hadn’t.” 

“One fortunate thing is,” said Madame, warmly, 
“that he can’t live for ever.” 

“Seems to think he’s going to,” announced the 
other. “When he wants to be less amiable than usual. 


42 


MADAME PRINCE 


he always talks about taking his pick and choice 
round about here for Mrs. Lambert the second.” 

“As if any woman who knows him would be 
likely ” 

“To be sure they would,” declared Emma Lambert. 
“There ’ent the chances in a place like this, that 
there is up in London. Now, tell me your news, 
Milly. What’s Ethel’s young man like?” 

It was noticeable that, as Madame talked, her mode 
of speech slipped back to the manner familiar in her 
girlhood; now and again there came in the “I be,” 
and the “He baint,” that seemed to fit easily 
into the present surroundings. Thus it was that when 
the entire party assembled at a white cloth’d table, 
and Mr. James Lambert, bending his head com- 
manded, rather than asked, a blessing, and started 
to carve the huge joint of roast beef set in front of 
him, she answered his inquiry regarding preference 
for the well-done, or the under-done, in accents that 
had some resemblance to his own; Richard exhibited 
amusement, and the host decided that the lad, for 
this, should be served the last. “If your mother 
lived down here for a bit, my son, she’d soon begin 
to talk as nat’ral as any of the rest on us !” Madame, 
following up this advantage, recalled a story of an 
affected mannered youth from town. “By Jingo!” 
cried Mr. Lambert, appreciatively, suspending work 
with the large knife; “I must try to remember 
that one. Ought to go pretty well at Maidstone next 
Thursday.” The visit to the Sidney Arms had cer- 
tainly improved his outlook on the world ; he winked at 
the two girls, and promised to take them off later 
to the Foresters’ Fete that was being held a mile 
away. 

“When Jim Lambert’s friends come to see him,” 
he declared, with emphasis; “he likes ’em to go off 
swearin’ to hell that they’ve enj’yed ’emselves. I 


MADAME PRINCE 


43 


do the best I can, to make ’em welcome, don’t I, 
Emma?” 

“Yes, Jim. You do your best.” 

“And all I ask in return is that they shan’t be 
stand-offish, or high-minded, or patteronising, or 
anything of the kind. If people treat me as I treat 
them ” 

“Does that ever happen, uncle?” inquired Phyllis. 

“Very rarely, my girl. And that’s the only actual 
grievance I’ve got. Otherwise, I’m as happy as the 
days are long. Very few people so easy to get on with 
as what I am, providing, mind you, providing I be 
tackled in the right and proper way.” 

Madame wanted to call during the afternoon on 
acquaintances in the neighbourhood, but Mr. Lambert 
insisted the entire party should accompany him and 
have, as he expressed it, the time of their lives. He 
did, when all were ready and assembled, go back 
to his earlier manner by criticising the appearance 
of his wife. “Dowdy,” he said, “that’s what I call 
you!” — and on Madame’s recommendation, the lady 
asked for ten minutes’ leave; the sisters returned 
from upstairs, Emma Lambert with her hair done 
in a fashion that suited the new hat, and her husband, 
after inspection, said cautiously, “Better, by no 
means perfect !” They set off, leaving the two 
servants in charge; David, so the maids said, had 
cleaned himself and had gone to the fete. Emma 
Lambert, challenged by her husband, admitted she 
had given the permission, and for this found herself 
called a blundering, thick-headed, flat-footed, busy- 
body. 

They caught up, on the way, with several middle- 
aged folk who remembered Madame, and were glad 
to see her looking so well, and so smart; the ladies 
of these, in talking, examined frankly the details 
of the costume which she wore, and in one case a 


44 


MADAME PRINCE 


plain inquiry was made concerning price per yard. 
“And still a widder?” they asked as the young people 
called to Madame to hurry. Receiving the answer 
they said, enviously, “ Tis well to be you!” Outside 
a marquee in a field, a brass band was playing with 
extraordinary gusto, “For he’s a jolly good fellow!” 
Jim Lambert mentioned that the dashed infernal 
scoundrel of a vicar at the lunch within was now about 
to acknowledge the toast of his health. 

Roundabouts, with powerful music, were creaking 
along on their circular tour; swings, that started 
on the horizontal, went up with their patrons to the 
perpendicular, and fell again; folks ascended steps to 
enter the threepenny wax-work show; in the quarter 
of the meadow set aside for cocoa-nut shies, one had 
to go warily. Jim Lambert announced, in an authori- 
tative way, the plan of sightseeing to be adopted, 
and he would have conducted the party on his own 
lines but that a heavy hand came down upon his 
shoulder, given by one of the flushed- faced men coming 
out of the marquee, and Jim became involved in 
a heated argument about a pig, that enabled the rest 
to escape from his control. Phyllis and Georgina 
and their brother mounted wooden horses and whirled 
around, giving a wave of the hand as they flew past 
their mother and their aunt; the journey over, they 
insisted that the elders should share the joys of 
equestrian exercise, and local young men watched 
with interest as Madame and her sister took places 
and the machinery was set in motion. Madame 
enjoyed the experience of relief from precise behaviour ; 
Emma Lambert, on the neighboring steed, gasped 
out fears that Jim might happen to catch sight 
of her. They went around, controlling skirts, the faces 
in the crowd a mere blur until the movement slackened. 
Madame perceived that the vicar, a hearty man who 
seemed to have enjoyed his meal, was one of the 


MADAME PRINCE 


45 


spectators; by his side stood a tall languid-looking 
youth wearing pince-nez, straw hat tipped forward 
to keep off the rays of the afternoon sun. Madame 
and her sister dismounted as the horses stopped 
just in front of the two men. Emma Lambert put 
the new hat straight and bowed. 

“This,” exclaimed the vicar genially; “this is 
the most wonderful sight in the world. Mrs. Lambert 
giving up work and actually enjoying herself! Why 
do people say that the age of miracles is past?” 

“I’m not sure, sir, whether you know my sister, 
from London.” 

“De — lighted! Let me introduce to you both ” 

He turned in speaking towards his companion, and 
the name did not reach Madame and her sister. 

“You must persuade Mrs. Lambert, whilst you 
are here,” said the vicar to Madame, “not to wear 
herself out. It gives many of us great concern. Use 
your influence and advise her to go slowly.” 

“If Milly did that,” interposed Emma Lambert, 
“I should have a very quick answer for her. She’s 
just as busy up in London as what I are down here.” 

“I am wasting my eloquence,” he said, with a 
gesture of helplessness, “on two resolute and deter- 
mined labourers in the vineyard. Ah, Lambert!” 
As Emma’s husband came near — “And how are you 
on this bright and eminently joyous day?” 

“If I was put upon oath,” answered the farmer, 
his chin out, “I should make reply that I didn’t 
find myself none the brighter, and not much more 
joyous for catching you here, sir, talking away nine- 
teen to the dozen to my wife and her sister, in my 
absence elsewhere. But not being on oath, I s’pose 
it’s only good behaviour to say that I’m as well in 
health as I ought to be, and that I shall be pleased 
to see the back view of your coat soon as ever you 
like.” 


46 


MADAME PRINCE 


The boy Richard came, bulgy with cocoa-nuts, 
and proud to announce that, owing to his continued 
success, the man in charge of the shies had declined to 
allow him to enter any further competitions. The 
vicar, giving up attempts to conciliate Jim Lambert, 
turned to Richard, offered congratulations. The 
vicar’s companion put an inquiry to Madame; he 
made it as though speech required an effort. There 
were two young women at the fete ; he had encountered 
them a few minutes since. The vicar did not know 
them. Who could they be ? 

“Just possible,” said Madame, “you are referring 
to my daughters.” 

“Think not,” he remarked, pushing the suggestion 
aside. “Both quite out of the ordinary. One of them 
a particularly attractive girl. Someone surely must 
know who they are.” He looked around as though 
in search of an authority. 

“If it’s any information you want of a reliable 
nature,” said Lambert, pushing forward, “apply to 
me.” 

“Rather than do that,” said the young man 
casually, “I prefer to remain in a state of ignorance.” 

Georgina and Phyllis broke through the outer 
circle of curious lookers-on, and to the inner circle 
of oddly matched acquaintances. They were carrying 
ornaments of china, prizes gained, it seemed, by 
adroitness in throwing rings at upright pins, and their 
one anxiety now was to ascertain what they were 
to do with the unattractive and quite superfluous 
articles. Aunt Emma said she would be gratified 
to accept them, but did not see her way to carrying 
them about for the afternoon. The vicar’s friend 
interposed. His car was near the gate of the field: 
might he be allowed to take charge of the vases, and, 
later, convey them to any address given ? 

“Kind of you,” said Phyllis, composedly. “Relieve 


MADAME PRINCE 


47 


my sister of her precious burden, and I’ll carry mine. 
Which way do we go ?” 

‘Til ask somebody.” He spoke as one not accus- 
tomed to depend upon himself. 

“Be very careful of your load,” she said, in going. 
“Otherwise the curse of the Lamberts will descend 
upon you, and that ” 

“Serious business, eh?” 

“You might as well eat one of the gingerbreads 
off the stall over there, and finish your life at once.” 

“Come with me in the car and share the responsi- 
bility.” 

Madame was not quite sure whether the two ought 
to go off thus, without an escort. The vicar explained 
that the young man had been a private pupil of his 
some few years earlier, and, giving up early intentions 
in regard to a career, was now, to save trouble, in the 
City. Madame felt reassured by this. The vicar, 
noting that Mr. Lambert was preparing once more 
to enter upon disputatious argument, affected to 
recognise someone in the distance, and, with apologies, 
hurried away. 

“Too many fussy people about,” complained Jim, 
“to suit my mark. Forcing themselves on our comp’ny 
without being invited. Let’s get across and see the 
cricket match, and find some peace and quietness.” 

If this desire were real, Mr. Lambert proved singu- 
larly unsuccessful in achievement. The game was 
Married versus Single ; the bachelors were taking 
their innings, and, over a question of leg before 
wicket, Jim strode across to the play and instructed 
the umpire in the performance of duties. Madame 
took her sister off to stroll leisurely back to the farm, 
and to enjoy a renewal of confidential chat: Georgina 
and Richard were directed to look after each other. 
This walk, with release from interruptions, calls 
upon aged folk too decrepit to go to the fete, and 


48 


MADAME PRINCE 


flattered to receive the call of a visitor to whom com- 
plaints could be recited; inspection of improvements 
made here, dilapidations occurring here; references 
to inhabitants who had “took to drink,” or “found 
religion,” or “gone all to pieces” — all this helped 
to constitute for Madame the pleasantest hour of a 
notable day. A piece of luck was found at home 
in a message brought by David ; the master sent 
word that he would not return for the afternoon 
meal. 

“We didn’t see anything of you there, David,” 
mentioned Madame. 

“I saw you,” he replied acutely, “and I saw the 
young ladies, but you was all mixing with the nobs 
and the swells, and I come to the conclusion I was 
safer where I was. If I’d stepped forward, I should 
on’y have put my foot in it. Tell you what, though. 
If you like to invite me, why, some day, when I 
find myself in London, I’ll ascertain where Highgate 
is — got a brother up that way somewheres, but he’s 
an inspector of the police, and he don’t particular 
want to see me — and I’ll come along and give you all 
a surprise.” Madame assured him he would be wel- 
comed. “Now you want some flowers, I expect, 
to take round to the grave.” 

The two sisters went slowly and quietly to the 
churchyard. There they gazed at the tombstone 
that recorded the end of their parents. “And of 
Flora, unmarried daughter of the Above, who departed 
this Life, June the 22nd, 1893. Aged 18 years. 
‘Cut down like a Flower.’ ” 

“Poor child,” sighed Aunt Emma. 

“The dear, dear creature,” said Madame. 

“She had her trials and troubles, if you like.” 

“Fortunately there were very few who knew 
about ’em.” 

“Thanks to you,” said Aunt Emma. 


MADAME PRINCE 


49 


On their return they had begun to wonder what 
had become of the children, when a car drove up 
to the gate, and the whole group descended; the 
owner of the car, at the end of the line, came along 
the uneven pavement, carrying the ornaments as 
though they were the finest productions of Sevres. 
The young people were, it was clear, already on 
friendly terms with him. A circular route had been 
taken, and Georgina and Richard encountered. 

“Expect you’d think I was taking a great liberty, 
sir,” said Emma Lambert, “if I made so bold as to 
ask you to set yourself down and have a cup of tea 
alongside of us.” 

“If you had omitted to do so,” he replied, “I 
should have gone away in a perfect flood of tears. 
May I take this chair, next to Miss Phyllis?” 

“Choose whichever one that’s best suited to you,” 
urged the hostess. 

It was no ordinary or casual meal that they faced; 
guests with delicate appetites, or under stern medical 
control would have shirked the task. It assumed 
they had eaten nothing for days ; it also seemed 
to guess that tastes differed, and there was a shoulder 
of cold ham, boiled eggs kept warm in a basin of hot 
water, sardines, a meat pie, cakes just out of the oven, 
home-baked bread, fruit, and several other dishes. 
The young visitors set out upon the business with 
a readiness that delighted their aunt; she beamed 
contentedly when they asked for more, kept a wary 
eye upon the cup of the young man. “Was your last 
to your liking, sir?” and the answer came, “Mrs. 
Lambert, the best I’ve ever tasted.” Madame 
gave in rather early, on the plea that she had made a 
remarkably good meal at at two o’clock, but her com- 
parative failure was atoned for by the extraordinary 
industry of Richard; the only suggestion of want of 
agreement between Madame and her sister came when 


50 


MADAME PRINCE 


one declared the boy had eaten enough, and the other 
urged that he had just started. The young man of 
the car, finding his questions parried by Phyllis, 
turned to Georgina and from that young woman 
obtained without trouble information concerning 
Highgate Village, the exact address, and the work 
carried on there ; a slight cough that afflicted Madame, 
recognised by Georgina as a caution rather than a 
physical weakness, came too late to have any effect. 
He made no further inquiries, excepting to ask con- 
cerning the return train, and to crave permission to 
call for the Londoners after he had looked in upon 
the vicar. Madame begged he would not give him- 
self this trouble. 

There was much speculation when he had left. 
Richard feared that, as a definite arrangement had 
not been made, they would be forced to trudge the 
three miles and a half along a white dusty road, 
stepping aside for vehicles instead of enjoying a swift 
ride in a conveyance that passed everything else. 
Aunt Emma appealed to her sister, as an authority 
on such matters, to say whether she had treated the 
guest correctly and suitably. Madame could think 
of no error that had been committed, but Phyllis 
ventured to point out that it was unnecessary to 
call a youth “sir.” Phyllis said it might be done 
as a sign of respect to age, but for no other reason. 

The car, to Richard’s satisfaction, returned within 
the hour. Phyllis was in the garden, making a bunch 
of flowers by her aunt’s permission and guidance; 
Emma Lambert, fearful of repeating her blunder, 
went into the house to tie the bunch with bass string. 

“Had a job to get away from the vicarage,” the 
young man remarked. “Wasn’t sure what excuse to 
make, and the singularly happy idea came of stating the 
facts. Just said that I had met someone dearer to me 
than life itself.” 


MADAME PRINCE 


51 


“You won’t forget that my uncle has a very jealous 
disposition.” 

“Odd as it may appear, I was not referring to 
your aunt.” 

“These old-fashioned outdoor flowers,” said 
Phyllis, “are so much more interesting than the 
productions of a conservatory.” 

“The first platitude I’ve heard from you,” he 
remarked. 

“I’m rather good at them, to tell the truth. Plati- 
tudes and titled people are the only things I admire. 
We needn’t start for half an hour. Let us walk around, 
and I’ll bet you a threepenny piece I talk nothing 
else.” 

Madame and Georgina were stepping into the car 
when the young couple returned from the stroll: 
Richard had been occupying a front seat for the last 
twenty minutes, and hoping that passers-by would 
take him to be the owner. Phyllis remarked as she 
came out of the gate that our grandmothers would 
be surprised at the methods of transit now 
popular ; her companion, playing the same con- 
versational game, said that, in his opinion, invention 
was making great strides. There were farewells to 
be given to Aunt Emma, who declared, rather ambigu- 
ously, that Jim would be sorry not to have had the 
pleasure of saying good-bye to the visitors. 

At the station they discovered that a relief train 
was being run; the excursion of the morning, it 
appeared, had been divided into two portions. The 
first half of the return excursion was travelling in 
advance of time, and would go express from Ton- 
bridge. Thanks were offered hurriedly to the owner 
of the car. Madame, leading the way, went over the 
footbridge to the up platform. 

“Tell me,” he said indolently to Phyllis, “when 
are we likely to meet again?” 


52 


MADAME PRINCE 


"It’s a small world,” she answered, securing the 
defence of well used remarks, “and we never know 
what may happen from one day to another.” 

The train came, but without their friendly guard; 
Madame and her young people stepped into a third- 
class compartment, where the passengers welcomed 
them noisily. Richard, looking out of the window, 
saw his uncle blustering along, and his uncle saw him. 
Jim Lambert stepped on the footboard and was 
pulled back by the autocratic stationmaster. “But 
I want to kiss ’em,” protested the bemused farmer, 
tearfully. “The gals can’t go home without a fond 
hug from Uncle Jim.” To the owner of the car, who 
came as the train started, at a swift pace which 
seemed inappropriate to him, the railway official showed 
a different manner, finding, at the other’s request, 
the smallest silver coin of the realm, which the young 
man handed to Richard to be given in settlement 
of a wager to Miss Phyllis. Richard performed his 
share of the financial transaction, and ere the train 
had passed the home signals, was well asleep. 

The compartment offered a change from the demure 
journey of the morning. Some of the passengers 
sang, one or two quarrelled. A man and his very short 
wife had, like the Highgate folks, been visiting friends, 
and the wife, reviewing incidents of the day, found 
many of which she felt she had reason to complain, 
and recited these with care and detail: the husband 
said, at the end of each, that she was one who took 
offence where no offence was meant, and the lady, 
empannelling her fellow-travellers as a jury, set the 
case before them, and begged them to give a candid 
verdict, which they did, and on this she wept and said 
all the world was against her, and no one cared for 
her, and she did not much mind if she never saw 
the light of another day. The husband protested 
that there was, at least, one person who had a great 


MADAME PRINCE 


53 


regard for her, and, challenged to give further partic- 
ulars, said “Me!” Whereupon, to the great interest 
of Georgina, the two embraced each other affection- 
ately, the husband calling his wife his own dear 
little pocket Venus, and later the husband dozed and 
rested his head upon his small wife’s shoulder; when 
she jerked it away he leaned his head on Phyllis’s 
shoulder. Her mother made room, and Phyllis changed 
to the opposite side of the compartment. 

“What is my baby girl looking so serious about?” 

“The tragic difference,” answered Phyllis, “between 
the ease and dignity of the journey down, and the 
hard inconvenience of the journey home, strikes a 
deep philosopher, like myself, very forcibly.” 

“It was something else, I fancy.” 

“You’re quite right, mother dear. I was thinking 
it a pity we didn’t find out his name.” 

“I ought to have asked,” said Madame, self- 
rep roach fully. “It would have been easy enough 
for me to do so.” 

“Didn’t really matter,” declared Phyllis. “Only 
that without this information, it won’t be possible 
to collect any news about him.” She remained quiet 
for a while. “But,” more cheerfully, “he did get our 
address, and so far the romantic incident may be 
considered to have progressed satisfactorily.” 

“You are much too young,” said Madame, “to 
be talking or thinking in that way.” 

“Words which your mother used to you; which 
you are using to me; which I, with any luck, will, 
in due course, use to my daughters.” 

“Youth must be instructed.” 

“Nobody,” declared the girl, pressing Madame’s 
arm affectionately ; “nobody, dear, could do it 
better than you.” 

They met revellers on the way from London Bridge; 
it seemed as though all townspeople had gone north for 


54 


MADAME PRINCE 


their holiday, and were now making their way home- 
wards. Richard, who had been awakened by the pro- 
cess of shaking at the terminal station, slept again on 
the care of Madame on the jolting omnibus, and the 
screaming and shouting that came up from folk on the 
pavements failed to disturb him. At the Archway 
Tavern, he was aroused afresh, and something amiss 
having occurred to the cable system, the party had to 
walk up the hill. He was climbing drowsily at the rear 
of the group, Madame stopping now and again to 
give him the opportunity of coming into line, when 
two joyous youths, descending, lifted bowler hats 
that were decorated with coloured paper, and asked 
Georgina and Phyllis to honour them with companion- 
ship in a dance out at the centre of the roadway. The 
two girls shrank to the railings ; Madame went forward 
to defend and, if necessary, attack. To the surprise 
of everybody and to the annoyance of the young 
gallants, Richard flew at them, punched them, kicked 
them, banged them, and a constable arriving the two 
took to their heels and raced down the hill. 

“Well done, Richard !” said Madame. 

“Cceur de Lion !” added Phyllis. 

He was a proud boy for the rest of the journey, 
and prouder still when, indoors, an account of the 
incident was given to Ethel. Ethel had enjoyed her 
day; the trip would have been perfect only that 
Mr. Hilborough was testing a new system of diet, 
and had assumed that she, too, would prefer to go 
without food. Ethel had not dared to make a sugges- 
tion, and blamed herself for omitting to take her purse. 
It would be a lesson in regard to future outings. 
Hilborough had escorted her home, arriving at the 
hour of nine, and Ethel curtailed the farewell 
in order to dash upstairs and forage around the 
kitchen. 

“And tell me about your experiences,” she begged. 


MADAME PRINCE 


55 


“I couldn’t help thinking, more than once, of the 
meals you were having at Aunt Emma’s.” 

Her brother recited the dishes set out at the farm- 
house. This done, he spoke of the rides in the car, the 
admirable driving of the owner. 

“I do wish,” said Phyllis once more, “that we 
had managed somehow or other to get hold of his 
name.” 

“The stationmaster,” remarked Richard : “the 
stationmaster called him Sir Ernest.” 


CHAPTER THREE 


I N private and under bonds of secrecy, Phyllis 
interrogated her brother : Richard declared him- 
self unable to amplify his statement, or, as an 
alternative, to withdraw it. Madame — observing 

that her eldest daughter hummed cheerfully and wore 
a smile of perfect content, and that her youngest 
girl had moments when thoughts appeared to have 
gone a-roving — Madame transferred some of the 
confidences of business to Phyllis, asked for her advice 
on certain points, and generally kept her well occupied. 
It was a slack time of the year for the establishment; 
many of the residents of the Village were away, and 
the girls received every morning, picture post-cards 
from acquaintances now taking holiday at seaside 
towns; these were marked by a note of broad and 
spacious humour and the illustrations dealt, for the 
most part, with the subject of encounters between 
youth on the pier, or the bathing experiences of very 
stout ladies. Other establishments in High Street 
felt the lassitude of August. Mr. Warland, of the 
ground floor, told Madame he was beginning to think 
that people were learning how to manage teeth with- 
out the aid of a dentist; he spoke recklessly of taking 
a day off for fishing, and assured Madame he would 
have carried this threat into effect but for the erratic 
temper of his sister, who, if left in charge, would show 
no sort of diplomacy in the reception of any chance 
patient. Ere now it had happened that Miss War- 
land, interviewing a caller in the temporary absence 
56 


MADAME PRINCE 


57 


of her brother, delivered a brief lecture based on new 
ideas that had come, in a fragmentary way, to her 
notice. 

“You think they ache,” argued Miss Warland, 
“but they don’t really ache. What you want is 
faith.” 

Miss Lilley and Miss Bushell, the two apprentices, 
were on the East coast, and sent rapturous and 
slightly incoherent communications that endeavoured 
to convey the joyfulness of their experiences. Mr. 
Hilborough wrote daily from Littlehampton, and 
Ethel replied each evening, herself posting the letter 
that no horrid delay might occur, and always ascer- 
taining, first, at the office counter that it could travel 
with a penny stamp and impose no surcharge on the 
recipient; she told her mother that Mr. Hilborough 
was easily annoyed, and one had to be very careful. 
Ethel was able to announce that he intended to 
return in time for the al fresco concert. 

“He goes on to say,” selecting the quotation, and 
offering it with pride to the company at the break- 
fast table, “he says ‘1 want to hear what kind of a 
muddle your sister Phyllis makes over her song. I 
should not wonder if she broke down/ ” 

“It is a gift,” remarked Phyllis, “to be able to 
express oneself so clearly, and so hopefully, by the 
medium of the pen. Richard, my precious lad, 
how are you getting on in that direction?” 

“Don’t you talk so much,” begged the lad with 
some confusion. “Get on with your food.” 

“We must hear about this,” urged Madame pleas- 
antly. “What is the secret ?” 

“That’s just it,” complained Richard. “It is a 
secret, and she knows it’s a secret, and that’s the only 
reason why she’s blurting it out in this ridiculous 
way. I suppose,” rather truculently, “a man can try 
his hand at writing a story if he wants to.” 


58 


MADAME PRINCE 


“Is it about love?” inquired Georgina. 

“Bah !” replied her brother, contemptuously. 

He showed the effort later, and Madame pronounced 
it, after deliberate reading, quite good. She made 
a few suggestions in regard to dialogue, expressing 
the opinion that Charles the First in addressing Nell 
Gwynn, would hardly say, “Beshrew me, but Fve 
a jolly good mind not to speak to you ever again,” and 
that the lady, despite humble origin, would be unlikely 
to reply by throwing an orange in the king’s face. 
Richard told his mother she could form no idea of 
the difficulties attendant on writing a story that 
dealt with remote history, and Madame recommended 
the easier method of taking the current period; 
Richard promised to consider this, but desired now 
to make an attempt at something in blank verse. 
Madame was of opinion that there was no money 
in blank verse. Richard, gratified to be taken seriously, 
said, that of course a man did not embark on literature 
for the mere joy of doing it; an income was the thing 
a man wanted. The completed story, it appeared, 
had been written on spare afternoons of the holiday in 
Waterlow Park, and Madame, in commending him 
for industry, remarked that if the desire to write 
continued into the autumn and winter, it would be 
necessary for her to arrange to set a room aside, 
during certain hours, for his use. 

“After you come back from the City,” she added. 

“Wish I could go straight bang into literary work.” 

“You must first make sure that you can do it 
well enough. What I am anxious about, just now, 
is that we should find a berth for you to go to. If 
only I knew people with influence !” 

The off months in High Street were looked forward 
to with apprehension, glanced at over the shoulder, 
as they went, with relief. In January and February, 


MADAME PRINCE 


59 


for instance, evening dresses were out, and the spring 
costumes had not come in. August was always empty ; 
September was but partially filled. With the hours 
well occupied there was no room for perturbing 
occurrences; it was when leisure came in that they 
had full scope for movement, with Miss Bushell and 
Miss Lilley, back from holidays, embroiled in con- 
tention on any excuse. If an immediate reason could 
not be found, the apprentices searched records of the 
past, and the duel was always prefaced by a certain 
formality of expression. 

“Miss Lilley, I am not aware whether you remember 
it or not, but just before I left you at the foot of the 
hill, one evening about three weeks ago, you passed 
a remark to me that I consider most unkind.” 

“What date, Miss Bushell?” (An ingenious 
question, mark you, likely to puzzle the other side, 
and, at any rate, giving time for preparation of the 
defence.) 

“Well, Miss Lilley, if you want to be so mighty 

particular, it was the Let me see, now ! To-day’s 

the twenty-fifth, and a Friday; the evening I’m 
speaking of must have been the fourth.” 

“The fourth,” announced Miss Lilley, hiding some 
of the signs of triumph, but not all, “the fourth was 
my mother’s birthday, and Madame let me off early 
so that I should be home to help arrange for the party. 
Now then, Miss! What have you got to say to that?” 

“If it wasn’t the fourth,” declared Miss Bushell, 
“it was some other date. And, as a matter of fact, 
it doesn’t matter in the very least about the date.” 

“Supposing,” argued Miss Lilley, “that you were 
in a court of law, and you were in the witness-box ” 

“I can guess where you’d be.” 

An interval for silent shivering. 

“Perhaps,” said Miss Lilley, with terrible polite- 
ness, “perhaps, now, you will be so good as to kindly 


60 


MADAME PRINCE 


inform me what it was I said to you, on a particular 
occasion that you can’t remember the date of, and 
that you seem, in your strange way, to consider as 
unkind.” 

‘I’ve forgot,” admitted Miss Bushell, “what it 
was I was going to speak about. But I may recollect 
that, or something else, presently.” 

The temporary disappearance of, say, a pair of 
scissors — always greatly valued, but never so highly 
estimated as when the atmosphere in the workroom 
found itself in an electric condition — made more 
accommodating reason for a good and resolute verbal 
tussle. Madame, coming in when the sound of voices 
engaged her attention, knew, from long experience, 
that the best plan to adopt was not to take sides, but to 
serve out a reprimand to both parties in a severe 
tone that gave her some trouble to adopt. This over, 
the two apprentices discovered that a common 
grievance cemented the broken friendship. In whispers 
across the work-table they agreed that Madame 
could be very dictatorial when she liked, that Madame 
was not everybody, and that once the time of appren- 
ticeship over, then hey for the West and Hanover 
Square, and a life of comparative independence as 
improver. 

In the case of Ethel, and before the acquaintance 
with Peter Hilborough, there had been, during these 
trying spaces, moments when she too talked darkly 
of leaving Highgate, and engaging herself to some 
establishment where one lived in, or lived out, but 
did, in any case, live. Madame, well acquainted with 
the remedy for each particular case, and aware that 
the same treatment was not appropriate to all, took 
Ethel in hand at once when restiveness was exhibited. 
The cure here was called a general turn-out, and 
carried into effect, it meant that everything in 
the showroom — everything, without any exception — 


MADAME PRINCE 


61 


dormant skirts in cupboards, blouses on stands, and 
chairs, carpets, tables, framed fashion plates, French 
and American journals, cheval mirrors — everything 
was shifted, everything dusted and brushed, and 
cleaned, everything later restored to original positions, 
and Madame’s tall daughter able to look around 
exhaustedly and contentedly and declare that, hard 
though the task had been, the results paid one in full. 

“I should loathe,” said Ethel, to her mother, 
“positively loathe to find myself in one of these 
smart firms where you couldn’t do exactly as you 
pleased. Why, you’d simply stagnate!” Madame 
felt compelled to admit that there was something 
in the view taken by her eldest daughter. 

Phyllis could be depended upon to preserve her 
usual outlook, but Georgina was affected, and, in 
her case, the signs were an increased devotion to a 
form of literature that did not always meet with 
Madame’s approval. The books were purchased by 
Georgina at the second-hand bookstall close to the 
newly-opened Tuke station at the foot of the hill, 
and the label of the division in which they rested, 
“Slightly Soiled,” often proved more accurate than 
the tradesman imagined. Occasionally, the covers 
were misleading. More than once Madame had found 
a volume hidden away in some corner that bore a 
picture of an adventurously costumed young woman 
embracing with great ardour a gentleman who was 
in what the book called immaculate evening dress, 
and Madame, desirous of making sure of her facts 
before bringing the charge, discovered that the book 
was of a harmless and unexciting nature, containing 
no scene that in any way resembled the illustration. 
But it did, as stated, sometimes happen that Georgina 
was in possession of a novel which failed to pass the 
censorship of Madame. 

“I like you to read, my dear,” she said, arguing 


62 


MADAME PRINCE 


gently, “and I sometimes wish I was fonder of it 
than I really am. Not that it matters so very much, 
because I seldom get any spare time. But when you 
do read, I think it ought to be something that’s 
likely to do you good.” 

“But that sort of stuff, mother, is so uninteresting.” 

“Better it should be dull than dangerous,” said 
Madame. “Anyway, I’ve put that one in the fire.” 
Georgina wept and expressed envy of the girls who 
owned broad-minded parents. Madame suggested 
that a mind could be broad without being deep. 

On these exacting days, the return of Richard 
from school came as a breeze that moved all the be- 
calmed and depressed sailing vessels. He bounced 
up the staircase three steps at a time ; he threw 
down his satchel; in the exuberance of youthfulness 
he caught Madame around the waist, and danced 
with her; he gave imitations of an unpopular assis- 
tant at his school; he performed a new trick learned 
in the gymnasium, and challenged the girls to do it; 
he consumed a meal that was in itself a stimulant to 
attention, and to amazement. 

“Mother,” said Phyllis, on one occasion, “far be 
it from me to use the language of compliment, but 
you really showed great presence of mind in arranging 
that your family should include a member of the 
male sex.” No comment was given. The remark 
had to be offered again. 

“It was rather thoughtful of me,” agreed Madame 
absently. 

Mr. Warland, as one of the few male acquaintances, 
was consulted on the subject of Richard, and could 
furnish no better suggestion than that the lad should 
be apprenticed in the profession of dentistry; a 
few brisk inquiries from Madame in regard to the cost, 
and the replies obtained, put an end to this, and Mr. 


MADAME PRINCE 


Warland, regretting that circumstances did not allow 
his advice to be taken, promised to keep eyes open. 
Mr. Warland’s sister, hearing of the difficulty, came 
upstairs for the purpose of giving her views; these, 
summarised, were that children constituted a great 
responsibility, so great indeed that Miss Warland 
felt disposed to thank Providence for never tempting 
her to accept any offer of marriage. She compared 
her own lot with that of Madame, and expressed 
deep and heartfelt sympathy. Miss Warland men- 
tioned that she had purchased two shilling tickets for 
the concert, and with some gloominess of manner, 
blamed herself for chucking money away. 

Hampstead joined with Highgate in arranging the 
entertainment, and the political associates responsible 
for it set bills in windows so far west as Heath Street, 
so far east as Crouch End. It was reckoned necessary 
by the organisers even in the fine weather months, 
to keep the Party together, and thus prevent the 
country from going to rack and ruin, and as dances, 
and whist drives, and lectures, and addresses were 
suitable only for the winter, a concert in the grounds 
“Kindly lent for the Occasion by the Hon. Mrs. 
Chaff ers,” was the one appropriate way of keeping 
the flag flying, and bewildering the other side. The 
other side did justice to its principles by tearing down 
portions of the bills that appeared on walls, and some- 
times writing the simple word, “Bosh !” across 
them ; this done, it allowed the matter to go 
forward, saying it was a pity folk could not discover 
some more serious and useful way of occupying 
time. Phyllis had been asked to sing one song; 
the secretary of the association — always described in 
the local newspaper as indefatigable, and constantly 
making endeavour to live up to the description — 
— later rushed in to ask Madame if her daughter could 
possibly give two songs ; so many people had answered 


64 


MADAME PRINCE 


his request in the negative that he declared himself 
at his wits’ end to know how to make up the pro- 
gramme. Later, again, he begged for three. Later 
still, the secretary called, in a different mood and a 
composed one, to announce that owing to the number 
of offers now coming in, one would be sufficient; 
indeed, if Miss Phyllis cared to stand aside altogether 
he could make arrangements accordingly. Miss 
Phyllis said that after practising for a whole fortnight, 
with occasional intervals for the taking of nourish- 
ment, she certainly did not intend to treat the public 
in such a cruel and vindictive manner; her name 
was in the preliminary announcements, and she had 
no desire to be looked upon as one of those who 
promise but never perform. Were there, by the by, 
a few of these slips to spare? The secretary had but 
one, which he required for his own collection of 
documentary records : Phyllis gave her best smile 
and he handed it over without further argument. 
She posted the bill that evening in a curiously addressed 
envelope bearing the inscription of “Sir Ernest,” 
and an illegible surname that no postman, or any other 
individual could hope to understand; the remainder 
of the direction was “c/o the Vicar,” at the small 
village down in Kent; a request in the corner said, 
“Kindly Forward.” This action might be taken 
by many as evidence of Phyllis’s attachment to the 
political party mentioned on the bill ; the well- 
informed and the censorious could have taken a 
different view, and, if age warranted it, their comments 
might include a reference to the extremely forward 
behaviour of young hussies of the current day. As 
to the young woman herself, she said, in dropping 
the envelope into the pillar box, 

“Worth trying, at any rate!” 

On the day of the concert, Madame noticed a 
touch of agitation in her youngest daughter, and offered 


MADAME PRINCE 


65 


inquiries ; Phyllis declared first that her nerves 
were in no way disturbed; second, that if they were 
it was but due to anxiety concerning the weather 
of the evening. Madame agreed that these out-of-door 
entertainments were not without their risks. 

“Wrap up,” she advised. “Put on something 
extra underneath.” 

Ethel was able to announce that Hilborough had 
succeeded in reaching town; he proposed to call and 
take her on to the concert, and Madame said of this, 
that it was good news, a description which Ethel 
appeared to consider in the light of an under statement. 
For herself, she thought it wonderful of Peter to thus 
go out of his way to endure an entertainment not likely 
to be conspicuously successful; to, in short, behave 
with such perfect consideration. “People who don’t 
know him,” she asserted, “have but little idea what 
a kind heart he possesses.” Madame gave it as her 
view that most people had virtues which were not 
apparent. “But not all,” contended Ethel. No, 
said her mother, not all. “That’s what I mean,” 
said Ethel, contentedly. The argument was allowed 
to finish there. 

Richard, in receipt of an allowance of one shilling 
per week for pocket money, did not see his way to 
disbursing this sum on a ticket, and indeed had his 
eye on a volume at the second-hand bookshop entitled, 
“How I Became a Successful Journalist,” sample 
pages of which — “Approaching an Editor,” and 
“Dealing with Royalties,” and “Prime Ministers 
I have met” — he had already contrived to read during 
the proprietor’s luncheon hour; the book was marked 
“Reduced to is. 6d.,” and Richard thought that, 
with some persuasion, one and three might be accepted. 
Apart from this, he was, on a hint obtained from the 
same book, starting, with Madame’s emphatic 
approval, to teach himself shorthand. 


66 


MADAME PRINCE 


"IPs pretty difficult/’ he complained. 

"If it were not,” said Madame, "everybody would 
learn it. Stick to it, boy. Never give in. All the knowl- 
edge that’s worth having is hard to get.” She promised 
to stay on and look to his supper. Missing the first 
half of the concert, she declared, did not matter in 
the least. Phyllis said that in this case, she would 
give her song after the interval; the secretary might 
not like the change, but he would have to put up 
with it. 

Richard and his career are, in consequence, 
responsible for an encounter in Hampstead Lane 
at the hour of half-past eight. There saunters across 
the roadway to Madame — who is taking the pavement 
side, and walking, as is her custom, briskly — a tall 
youth who, lifting straw hat and trying to find pince- 
nez, says that he is looking for the grounds of such- 
and-such a house. A1 fresco concert or something of 
the kind going on, he believes. Is it, may he ask, 
far? Madame, identifying the questioner without 
the least trouble, answers in a voice which, for the 
help of deception, takes on a slight huskiness, that 
she is unable for the moment to recall the exact 
particulars. On this the young man finds an envelope 
and producing it under a lamp-post takes out the bill 
that it contains. Madame’s alert eye observes the 
handwriting of the vague address. 

"Oh, that,” says Madame, as though illumination 
has but just arrived. "Yes, I can tell you all about 
that. The concert is postponed.” 

"Really? Postponed?” With expostulation in 
the double inquiry. 

"Epidemic,” says Madame. 

The other, stepping back instinctively, is sorry to 
hear this, regrets to have given trouble. Madame 
answers, "Not at all!” and goes with increased 
speed on her way. Turning, she notices that he 


MADAME PRINCE 


67 


is strolling back in the direction of Highgate 
Village. 

“1 want no Sir Ernests or any other titled chaps,” 
says Madame, speaking to herself without the accent 
of the showroom; “fussing about after a girl of 
mine !” 

The prospective candidate for the borough had 
taken advantage of the rest between the first and 
second parts of the programme; he was up on the 
temporary platform that had been framed with 
Chinese lanterns, and in a voice which might have 
been intended, to reach Harrow-on-the-Hill, was 
announcing his intention of making, not a speech, 
but just a few, a very few remarks of perhaps — 
here he chuckled in anticipation — a somewhat jocular 
nature. The considerable audience on green chairs 
shifted forward expectantly; a few supporters of 
the cause who knew their man went off furtively in 
the dusk, and lighted the pipes that, out of regard 
to the delicate temperament of the ladies, had hitherto 
been kept in pockets. The prospective candidate, 
knowing how much depends upon a good start, 
spoke of the large attendance and told a sufficiently 
well-known anecdote. This seemed not to go so well 
as he had hoped and expected, and the prospective 
candidate came down to the more reliable ground of 
solemnity. Never, he declared, never during the whole 
length of an experience that might be described, 
he thought, as fairly long, 'and undoubtedly wide, 
had he found his native country faced with such an 
extraordinary crisis as at the present moment. He 
did not hesitate to say — and said it with the full 
consciousness of the peril at this time of speaking 
incautiously, or without full thought and extra- 
ordinary deliberation — he did not flinch from making 
the statement with all the force and resolution that 
were within his power, that unless the Government 


68 


MADAME PRINCE 


of the day took the matter strongly in hand, carrying 
it through to an extraordinary and a satisfactory 
conclusion, why then undoubtedly something would 
happen which it was beyond the mental power of 
himself or any other politician to estimate with 
accuracy. More to the same vague and involved 
effect, accompanied by violent gesture that should 
have brought persuasion to the mind of any doubting 
hearer; the sudden dislodgment, by a sweep of the 
right arm, of a fern in pot, appeared to warn the 
speaker that it were well to keep emotion under 
control. In quieter tones, he remarked that this 
was one of those extraordinary pleasing social functions 
wherein he, for one, felt himself completely at home; 
nothing gave him greater pleasure than to meet 
his friends and supporters in this extraordinary in- 
formal way. He was specially gratified by the presence 
of ladies, whose charm and attractiveness, and extra- 
ordinarily engaging qualities. — And so on. Madame 
listened to all this without permitting it to affect 
her thoughts. A movement of chairs in front gave 
her sight of Ethel; the arm of young Hilborough 
was resting on the back of the girl’s chair, and now 
and again he pinched her ear, or stroked her neck, 
and Ethel gave no signs of disapproval. 

“Scarcely the one I should have picked out for 
her,” said Madame to the programme, “but, at any 
rate, he does belong to something like our own class.” 

The prospective candidate finished his elaborate 
tribute by pointing out, in heavy prose, and with 
the air of one making a discovery that at times of 
extraordinary comfort and good health, woman did 
occasionally appear — if he might say so — a trifle 
uncertain, and so to speak, difficult ; yet when it 
came you know to pain, or anguish, or anything of 
that sort, why woman was simply splendid. “I am 
using the language of candour, and not the language 


MADAME PRINCE 


69 


of extraordinary flattery when I say that she is, in 
the cases I have described, worthy of the name of 
ministering angel.” He bowed, edged to the side of 
the platform, bowed again, disappeared. The energetic 
secretary came on and announced some slight altera- 
tions rendered necessary in the second part of the 
programme. Miss So-and-So, who wished to get away 
to catch a train, and Mr. Such-and-such, who had 
an engagement down West, would give their contri- 
butions early; Mademoiselle Tel-un-Tel had not 
arrived, and no telegram had come from her; the 
conjuror had wired to say that owing to a breakdown 
in the train service he was unable to be with them. 
Miss Phyllis Prince, said the secretary, had been 
good enough, in these circumstances, to promise to 
sing two songs instead of one. (Cheers) . The secretary 
trusted the audience would not consider him responsible 
for the failures; he knew he would come in for some 
amount of chipping afterwards from his friends, but 
he did hope that the general public would recognise 
he had done his best. Hurt by the silence with which 
this assertion was received, he left the platform, and 
in descending the steps was heard to remark that 
anyone else could jolly well take on the job of organis- 
ing future entertainments. 

The audience moved from chairs, and Madame 
was recognized by some in a condescending way which 
hinted that although agreement in political views 
brought folk together, the circumstance was not 
to be presumed upon; by others with every sign 
of friendliness. “How are the daughters?” and 
“How do you find business?” and “Anything of 
a startling nature likely to take place in winter 
fashions?” and “Haven’t forgotten your little 
account,” and “Can you feel the dew falling, or 
is it only my imagination?” Husbands were intro- 
duced in one or two cases, and, under the impression 


70 


MADAME PRINCE 


that it was expected of them to be humorous, talked 
in mock despair of wives’ infatuation for dress, and 
mentioned the desire that they, too, could afford 
to buy a new rig-out every other Tuesday. In like 
vein, they congratulated Madame on the enormous 
profits made by milliners and dressmakers. 

“Been here long, Madame?” inquired Hilborough, 
coming forward. “Ethel said you were likely to be 
a bit late, but I s’pose I ought to have kept a look-out 
for you. Mothers-in-law expect a certain amount 
of deference and attention, I believe.” He beamed 
with content at choosing the right subject, and ex- 
pressing himself well; Madame found his style 
harder to bear than that of the facetious husbands. 
“We’re waiting to hear Miss Phyllis, and then we’re 
going to take ourselves off, allowing a little time for 

spooning and canoodling on the way, and Not 

cold are you?” 

“It wasn’t the air, Mr. Hilborough, that made 
me shiver.” 

“Someone walking over your grave,” he suggested. 
“I must be getting back to Ethel, or else I shall find 
myself in disfavour. So long, Madame. Be good!” 

Madame looked at him as he went, a well satisfied 
youth, walking with a slight swagger and disposed 
to elbow folks out of his way. “But he may,” she said, 
as though still arguing with herself; “he may make 
her happy, all the same. You never know!” 

It was when Phyllis had given her second song, 
receiving applause started by a pair of manly hands 
at the back of the rows of chairs, and kept up by them 
after the general acknowledgments had stopped, that 
— Phyllis having accepted a recall, and taking 
Georgina’s place at the music-stool, furnishing her 
own accompaniment to a simple two-verse melody — 
it was then the prospective candidate appeared 
again on the platform. Folk, alarmed by this, began 


MADAME PRINCE 


71 


to leave; Madame hurried to discover her daughters, 
and to take them away. The two she found 
putting on cloaks behind a screen ; Georgina ac- 
cepted, without protest, Madame’ s suggestion, but 
Phyllis thought there was no need for hurry. The 
speaker’s voice came booming in their direction. 
“Quite by accident — great friend of mine — consented 
to move — thanks to artistes — extraordinary pleasure 
— introduce Sir Ernest Chard.” Phyllis ran to the 
steps near the platform, and went up half way. 

Whilst Madame was blaming herself for the failure 
of a device that had appeared so entirely successful, 
the young man with the pince-nez said his few words. 
Regretted his late arrival; this was due to a mis- 
direction given. Charm and ability of the singers 
whom he had the good fortune to hear enabled him 
to estimate worth of the whole programme; in 
expressing obligation to them, felt he also ought to 
congratulate the Party to which he, with most of the 
audience, belonged. 

“Going to call,” he said, glancing around, “if 
she is still here — am going to call upon Miss Phyllis 
Prince to respond.” 

Madame out of sheer nervousness gripped 
Georgina’s hand, as her youngest daughter, after a 
moment’s pause, complied. It was one matter to sing 
to people who did not expect too much; altogether 
another for a girl to speak upon brief notice. 

“I am greatly obliged to Sir Ernest,” said Phyllis, 
in her clear young voice, “for giving me the oppor- 
tunity of accepting, on behalf of the performers, 
this vote of thanks. We have always had a lingering 
suspicion that we were highly gifted: it is satisfactory 
to receive confirmation of this view from a high 
authority.” Phyllis called for three cheers for the 
leader of the Party — “I was going to do that,” said 
the prospective candidate, aggrievedly — and the 


72 


MADAME PRINCE 


shouting over, took the courteously offered assistance 
of Sir Ernest’s hand at the steps. 

“Your mother here?” he asked. 

“Just over by the screen.” 

“Take me to her,” he requested. 

Madame’s tremors were allayed by his friendly 
manner; it was clear he did not identify her with 
the inexact lady of Hampstead Lane. As the four 
walked out of the grounds, he accompanied Madame, 
declaring that to go to Highgate Village would be 
scarcely anything out of his way. 

“How did you hear of the concert?” Phyllis 
called out. 

“Someone,” he answered over his shoulder, “for 
some reason sent me a notice.” 

“The secretary,” remarked Phyllis, “is a very 
hard-working man.” 

(“Oh, my daughter,” said Madame to herself. “Oh, 
my youngest daughter !”) 

He dropped back to inquire the name of one of 
Phyllis’s songs, and Georgina obeyed, with some 
reluctance, a nudge from her sister, and went forward 
to take his place. Madame, in reply to Georgina’s 
questions put in a whisper and answered in an under- 
tone, admitted Sir Ernest had a manner that was 
beyond criticism, confessed it compared well with 
the style adopted by Mr. Hilborough. “It is all 
so romantic,” said Georgina, dreamily. Madame 
suggested that the incident was likely to be also 
marked by brevity. 

“Here,” she said, speaking with resolution near 
The Old Gate House, “here, Sir Ernest, we say good- 
bye.” In the dusk she failed, in spite of all her powers 
of observation, to notice a quick transfer made by 
Phyllis of an article of property. “So good of you 
to have seen us home.” 

“I shall look forward to meeting you again,” 


MADAME PRINCE 


73 


he said, and waited for a moment. The two girls 
glanced anxiously at their mother. No invitation 
came. “Good night!” He left them and walked 
off through High Street. They followed slowly, 
Madame giving the pace. 

Richard had left in the sitting room a note saying — 

“I’ve fed 
My head, 

And gone 
To bed!" 

The girls, announcing themselves in duet as hungry, 
had pulled chairs to the table, when Phyllis gave a 
cry of despair. 

“My music-case,” she exclaimed. “And my songs 
that are in it.” 

“What has happened?” 

“The bold, bad but well-meaning baronet has run 
off with it.” 

“That was careless of you, Phyllis.” 

“Mother,” said the girl, “worse than careless. It 
was criminal.” The bell rang and she started up at 
once, flew downstairs. Returned with disappointment 
written across her features to give the news that it 
was only Ethel and Mr. Hilborough. Ethel wished 
to know if she might bring the young man up for 
supper. The method of careful dieting, it appeared, 
had been relinquished. 

“Why, certainly,” answered Madame. She stiffened 
herself in the manner of one prepared to endure 
trials. “Say that we shall all be delighted.” A rapid 
glance assured her the supply of food was adequate. 
Georgina took charge of the task of delivering this 
message, and a minute later Hilborough entered the 
room. 

“Forcing my company on you, Madame,” he said, 
breezily. “Ready to eat you out of house and home. 
You’ll soon get tired, I expect, of seeing my highly 


74* 


MADAME PRINCE 


intellectual features about the place if I appear too 
often at meal-times.” 

“Did you enjoy the concert, Mr. Hilborough?” 
she asked, without reassuring him on this point. 

“ ’Twasn’t bad,” he answered. “Our young friend. 
Miss Phyllis, here was as good as any of ’em. One of 
those songs I want to borrow, if you don’t mind. 
I think it’ll suit my voice. In a different key, of course.” 

The absence of the music-case was being explained 
when Ethel came from her room. “Chard?” echoed 
Hilborough, sharply. “The swell who spoke this 
evening? But how came he to be walking home with 
you? I don’t understand this at all.” 

“It isn’t necessary that you should,” remarked 
Phyllis. 

“What has become of Georgina?” interposed 
Madame. 

They listened. Georgina was ascending the stair- 
case talking to someone, and Phyllis took the slight 
flush of success. 

“Do come in,” they heard Georgina say. 

Sir Ernest, entering, begged Madame to accept a 
hundred excuses. Near to the County Council schools, 
in Highgate Hill — the tram-lines were undergoing a 
process of electrification, and walking was imposed 
upon him — he suddenly discovered himself to be in 
possession of property belonging to someone else. 

“We are just starting our meal,” said Madame 
rather defensively. “Would you care ” 

“That’s jolly of you!” he exclaimed. And bringing 
a chair from the wall sat next to Phyllis and began 
to talk to her. 

“In the circles where I mix,” said Hilborough 
with deliberation, “it is usual when a fresh party 
enters the room to introduce that party to the other 
parties that are there previous to the arrival of the 
fresh party; the idea being that all parties should 


MADAME PRINCE 


75 


thereby become acquainted with each other, and, 
at any. rate, ascertain each others’ names.” Madame 
apologised for the omission. Sir Ernest was presented 
to Ethel. Mr. Hilborough was presented to Sir Ernest. 

“Very lucky thing for you, sir,” said Hilborough 
across the table, “that you didn’t bring in any political 
allusions in your few remarks this evening. I managed 
to keep myself quiet whilst the other chap was talking, 
but if you had said anything to put my back up, you’d 
a heard from me. Wouldn’t have been the first time 
I’d called out something that couldn’t be answered.” 

“Tell us, Peter,” begged the admiring young woman 
at his side. “I know you take opposite views to those 
held by Sir Ernest, but he won’t mind, I am sure.” 

“Don’t care whether he does or not.” 

“I know, I know! But tell us about the times 
when you’ve scored.” 

“Not until I’ve got the complete attention of my 
audience,” he said, doggedly. 

Madame had made an inquiry concerning the vicar 
down in the country village, and Chard was telling, 
with more animation than was usual with him, of 
the days when he and a few other youths were under 
tuition, and the vicar was in debt to all the neigh- 
bouring tradesmen, and parents of the students 
were in debt to the vicar, and writs flew about and 
county court summonses were being served. Phyllis 
inquired why the parents did not settle. Answer, 
because they were all, as it happened, hard up. And 
how, asked Phyllis, was the difficulty solved? Reply, 
by bringing in two or three sons of commercial men 
who could afford to tender fees in advance. 

“I think folk ought to pay their way,” said Madame. 

“For once,” declared Hilborough, loudly, “I find 
myself in perfect agreement with you, Madame. As 
to the unworthy sneer of our friend opposite at people 
engaged in trade ” 


76 


MADAME PRINCE 


“Pardon me,” said Chard; “not a sneer. I 
remember we all felt immensely indebted to the 
new chaps for getting the vicarage out of trouble. 
And, for the matter of that, I am now a commercial 
man myself/’ 

“Whereabouts ?” 

“In the City.” 

“That’s a nice full address,” remarked Hilborough 
with sarcasm. “Now I know where to call when I 
want to see you.” 

Chard turned to Phyllis and to Madame, and for the 
rest of the meal ignored Hilborough. Madame spoke 
of the boy Richard and of her desire to see him started 
at work. Chard said, “What about a good insurance 
office?” Madame answered that she understood a 
nomination was required from one of the directors. 
“That ought not to be difficult,” he remarked, 
and offered to make inquiries ; Madame, in her 
gratitude for this, was forced to cancel the resolve 
made earlier, to ask the young man not to call again. 
He mentioned that the only advantage he had in 
the City was acquaintance with a few men of some 
distinction. 

“By the by,” said Hilborough, turning from the 
window, where Ethel was setting his necktie straight ; 
“by the by, how did you get that title of yours? 
What did you do to earn it? How came you by it? 
Handles to names must be about two or three half- 
pence if an individual like you can get hold of one. 
How did you work it?” 

“I happened, you see,” replied the other, addressing 
Madame in an undertone, “to be the only son of my 
father.” 

“Speak up,” urged Hilborough. 

“My grandfather,” still taking no notice of the 
aggrieved youth at the window; “my grandfather 
was the man who made the money, and helped the 


MADAME PRINCE 


77 


party to such an extent that they had to give him 
something in return. My father — there’s no secret 
about it — went in an opposite direction. My mother 

has a little cash, but I ” here he rose, “have 

been in debt more or less all my life. Never more so, 
Madame,” bowing to her, “than on the present 
occasion. Good-bye, and thank you ever so much.” 

“You won’t forget about the insurance office?” 

“I’ll see to it the first thing.” 

“Wait a bit,” called Hilborough. “I’m coming 
in your direction, Sir Ernest.” 

“I feel quite sure my way is not your way,” said 
Chard. He turned to Phyllis. “Be my guide to the 
street door, please.” On the landing, he offered 
compliments upon the ingenuity shown in making 
him a bailee of the music-case; the girl declared 
herself capable of higher flights than this. 

“A baronet,” said Hilborough, addressing the 
ladies in the sitting-room. “A Sir. And fancying 
himself no end to come here and patronise the whole 
lot of us. How long do you imagine,” to Madame, 
“that this sudden friendship is going to continue?” 

“I hope,” she answered, “that it will last until he 
has helped me in giving the boy a start.” 

“If you’re satisfied, I suppose there’s nothing more 
to be said. But I tell you candidly, I don’t like the 
look of it, and if trouble takes place, don’t blame 
me.” 

“I’ll remember not to do so,” said Madame. “And, 
Mr. Hilborough ” 

“Well?” 

“You are a visitor here, and you must please be 
civil to other visitors you happen to meet. To behave 
as you have done this evening is calculated to give a 
wrong impression of the friends and acquaintances we 
have;.” 

“I never try,” said the young man, surprised at the 


78 


MADAME PRINCE 


resolution of manner, “to be anything but my own 
natural self.” 

“That,” remarked Madame, “is just the defect I 
have endeavoured to point out.” 

Phyllis returned in a considerable state of cheerful- 
ness, to find the company affected by the brief lecture 
that had been delivered. 

“What’s your view, Ethel?” demanded Hilborough. 

“Peter,” she cried, “I can’t help seeing that 
mother is perfectly right. You’re the dearest man 
in the world, and I love you, but you don’t do yourself 
justice when you happen across people for the first 
time.” 

“I shan’t ask your opinion, Miss Georgina,” he 
said in a subdued way, “because it would be of no 
use to do so, and I shall refrain from appealing for 
your support, Miss Phyllis, because you'll only make 
one of your clever remarks that’ll keep me awake 
half the night trying to think of something I might 
have said in reply. Being therefore in a minority, 
I can but give in, and express my regret, Madame, 
if I have occasioned any grounds for complaint. 
I trust that under the guidance of Ethel, here, I shall 
improve, and,” with a burst of genuineness, “I 
can assure you, Madame, that I value your good 
opinion more than almost anything else in the world.” 

“We are going to be great friends,” said Madame, 
offering her hand. “After a while.” 

The family sat up late that night to take the pleasure 
of retrospection. Ethel made a strong appeal for 
clemency in regard to her Peter: she argued that 
to know all was to pardon everything, and in quoting 
some of his remarks, she used a tone of voice that 
robbed them of any suspicion of truculence. Going 
back to earlier incidents, the family discovered satis- 
faction in the circumstance that Phyllis had done 
well at the concert; this would mean the receipt 


MADAME PRINCE 


79 


of congratulations for days. In regard to Sir Ernest, 
Madame wondered where his mother went for her 
dresses and hats; there was a certain advantage in 
having a title on the books, although, from what 
could be gathered, the question of credit might have 
to be considered. 

“He ought to marry cash,” said Georgina. 

“On the other hand,” remarked Phyllis, “ — men 
are so strange, and the working of their brain so 
inexplicable — on the other hand, he may prefer to 
marry a girl.” 

“Tell me,” begged Georgina, as they went off 
together to their room, “tell me exactly what he 
said just before he left you to-night.” 

“I feel that to do so would be in the nature of a 
breach of confidence.” 

“Please!” urged the other. “I shan’t let anyone 
else know.” 

“Truth and honour?” 

“Truth and honour !” 

“Well,” said Phyllis, lighting the gas, “his last 
sweet, tender, never-to-be-forgotten words were these : 
T rather fancy,’ he said, and Georgina dear, you can’t 
realise what a thrill there was in his voice as he spoke. 
A thrill which meant that his complete soul and every 
fibre of his being ” 

“Do go on,” begged her sister, agonisedly. 

“ T rather fancy,’ he said, ‘we shall have rain 
before the morning.’ ” 


Madame, left alone, went through the work of 
locking up; then sat at her writing desk and found 
the book there. She turned to the pages headed 
“Phyllis,” and took a pen. After some minutes of 
consideration she decided not to take the assistance of 
the inkstand. 


80 


MADAME PRINCE 


“But,” she said in a thoughtful way, “I shall 
have to watch carefully. Makes one half wish they 
were all quite young again !” 

The approaching departure of Ethel seemed to 
create a desire for reminiscences. At table, someone, 
after a period of silence, would begin, 

“Do you recollect that time when ” 

Any differences in the statements were, by consent, 
submitted to Madame, and her decision was reckoned 
final. Occasionally she took up the duty of historian, 
and gave scraps of information not previously fur- 
nished. 

Of, for instance, the time when Richard, as Madame 
phrased it, came to town, and the family discovered 
itself moved to Highgate Village, and had to set 
about the task of making acquaintances. Of the 
domestic work she had to perform in addition to 
the business. Of dressing Phyllis, dressing Richard, 
getting breakfast ready, preparing Ethel and Georgina 
for school, and despatching them at twenty minutes 
to nine. Madame’s one assistant (long since married, 
and now a lady of importance at Hendon) came at 
nine, and what Madame would have done if the assis- 
tant had not been a highly competent ambidextrous 
person, alert in regard to fashions, and fond of children 
to the point of slavery — this it was not easy, looking 
back, to estimate. A short girl, whose wages matched 
her height, arrived at ten and took charge of Phyllis, 
and Richard being set in the perambulator, the small 
procession started out, and Madame was able to direct 
her attention to the showroom, whilst the assistant 
put the machinery of the workroom in motion. 

“None of the rush of customers, mind you,” 
Madame continued, “that we sometimes get nowa- 
days. Very often a whole morning went by and not 
a single solitary person came up the staircase. I used 


MADAME PRINCE 


81 


to beg and pray of those that appeared satisfied to 
recommend me to their friends; but do you think 
they did it? No fear! They wanted to keep me to 
themselves. They knew I was cheap and they found 
I took trouble, and they were certain they got better 
value from me than they would have done elsewhere, 
and — well, their idea was that if I became popular 
I should be spoilt, so far as they were concerned.” 

“Self-love, my liege,” quoted Phyllis, “is not so 
vile a sin, as self-neglecting.” 

“I could see their point of view,” Madame went on, 
“but I had to look after myself, and to think of you 
four little toddles as well. There were clothes to 
consider, and boots to be reckoned with, and it was 
easy enough with the girls, but when Richard began 
to grow up he, of course, wanted a new rig-out, because 
he couldn’t wear what the others had left off.” 

“Mere convention, surely,” remarked Phyllis. “It 
would have so helped the gaiety of the neighbourhood 
to see our dear brother dressed up as a figure of fun.” 

Richard aimed a kick under the table. Georgina, 
rubbing her ankle, said that if it happened again, 
she would take her meals alone. Ethel appealed for 
attention, and for better behaviour. 

“What did father earn?” she asked, interestedly. 
“Did you keep accounts ? Can I look at them, mother, 
one day ?” 

“I kept a record of every penny,” answered Madame, 
with emphasis, “that came in, and every penny 
that went out. I can call to mind that, more than 
once I fancied it was impossible to go on. I had the 
idea I should be obliged to give it all up, and take 
the lot of you down into the country, and live in a 
cottage that didn’t cost more than five shillings a 
week.” 

“If you had done that,” said Richard, “it would 
have made a pretty serious difference to us.” 


MADAME PRINCE 


“That, my boy, was what made me stick at it. 
That was what heartened me when I got humpish. 
And, besides, you were all such loves then.” 

“Mother dear, on a point of order,” said Phyllis. 
“My honourable friend — who is about to enter the 
marriage state, and naturally enough wishes to extract 
the last penny from her husband’s pockets — put a 
question which has not yet been answered.” 

“Your father,” said Madame, “usually came home 
on Saturdays for the week-end, and I really don’t 
believe there was one occasion when he forgot to 
bring something for each of you. Ethel, you remember. 
Georgina, you ought to recollect.” They nodded 
confirmation. Ethel said she used to watch every 
cable tram-car from one o’clock onwards. “Your 
father had a lot of friends, and it was difficult for 
him to tear himself away from them. But, goodness 
me, how pleased he was to be at home, and having 
games with all of you, and what a day Sunday was 
to be sure ! Your father didn’t care much for church, 
and his principles wouldn’t let him go to chapel, 
and, if it was fine, he took the whole four of you out 
into Highgate Wood and left me free to see after the 
cooking. And at dinner there was him at one end 
of this table and me at the other, and Ethel sat there, 
and Georgina sat there, and Phyllis sat there ” 

“Bless her good, saintly, little heart,” said Phyllis. 

“ — And Richard was in his high chair next to me. 
And your father could make you all laugh as easy 
as anything. Telling you about the funny people 
he’d met up in the North, and their peculiar way of 
talking; really, sometimes, I had to smile myself. 
He took a sleep after dinner, and I had to keep you 
children quiet, because — well, he was the best-tempered 
man that ever lived, but he always woke just a bit 
cross, and if he woke too soon, he was more than a 
bit cross.” 


MADAME PRINCE 


83 


“I wish you’d tell me ■” began Ethel. 

“But he soon got over it, and he’d sit on the floor 
and put up bricks for Richard to knock down, and look 
at all your dolls, and pretend they were young ladies 
in a shop, and at six o’clock — he never cared for tea 
towards the end — he used to go out and,” Madame 
sighed, “you saw no more of him until the morning, 
and then it was all hurry-scurry for him to be off 
to meet his cases at St. Pancras, say, and he’d 
dash down the stairs calling out ‘Good-bye, good-bye,’ 
as he went. One Saturday afternoon ” 

Madame stopped and gazed at the tray before her. 
The others knew what was coming, and remained 
silent. Even Phyllis refrained now from comment. 

“One Saturday afternoon Ethel, here, watched 
until I called her in for tea. At eight o’clock, when 
you had all gone to bed, two gentlemen — the street 
door was open — two gentlemen called up the staircase. 
‘Sorry to trouble you,’ one of ’em said, ‘but your 
husband’s done for, at last.’ I thought, at the moment, 
that they only meant he’d taken a trifle too much. 
I soon found out they meant more than that.” 

Ethel, in helping to clear the table later, happened 
to be in the kitchen with her mother. 

“The hard part of your struggle,” she suggested, 
“must have come when father died. So far as cash 
was concerned.” 

“Not so far as cash was concerned.” Ethel failed 
to understand this. “He was very generous,” ex- 
plained Madame. “He’d got a heart too big for his 
body. And if your poor father had a fault, my dear, 
it was that he was never somehow able, at the time 
I was speaking of, to bring money so far as High 
Street!” 

The most acutely fixed memory, so far as the 
family was concerned, bore a date of September 


84 


MADAME PRINCE 


in a year long ago. They talked of it rarely, and never 
without a shiver; for one to start the reminiscence 
was enough to make the rest say, imploringly, 

“Oh, do try to talk about something pleasant !” 

Richard was, it seemed, at the time of an age suffi- 
cient to take impression of notable events; it appeared 
occasionally when the matter was discussed, that his 
recollection was more precise than that of the others. 
If nothing else seemed likely to arrest talk on the 
subject, Phyllis would go across to the pianoforte 
and drown voices by playing a determined and 
vigorous overture, or summon all hands on deck to 
assist her mother in the task of ironing, and send 
Richard out for a brisk run; another plan was to 
rally the boy on some charge of sentiment, and this 
never failed to divert the conversation. Nothing, 
however, could prevent any of the family from 
thinking of the far-off event; if Madame, now and 
again, detected that she was being regarded with a 
look of special regard, she suspected the cause. 
Challenging Phyllis on a particular occasion, the 
youngest girl said, 

“Who fears to speak of ’98 ?” And straightway 
threw arms around her mother’s neck. 

Madame, in the conversations once a year, with Aunt 
Emma, admitted that when she was taken down the 
stairs at High Street at the period referred to, she 
scarcely expected to come back; all the same, she 
publicly fixed the date of her return at three weeks’ 
distant. The doctor had told her that the operation 
could be performed at home, by a really good man, 
at a cost of about fifty guineas; Madame said at 
once, “That’s out of the question!” On the other 
hand, she could be taken down to the hospital and 
there the operation would be carried out free of 
charge. Madame remarked, “Now, you’re talking 
sense!” So, on a rainy afternoon, when Nature 


MADAME PRINCE 


85 


seemed to be as tearful as the youngsters, Madame 
repeated her instructions. She sat on the invalid 
chair that Mr. Warland had, by some chicanery, 
borrowed from a firm with which he was acquainted. 

“The customers mustn’t know,” she said, touching 
fingers of the left hand to reckon the number of orders. 
“If they ask, say I’ve gone away on business. Ethel 
is to give up school, and remain at home and do her 
best. You are all to be good, dear children, and say 
your prayers every night, and — and mention me in 
them. And, now I’m off !” 

Ethel grew up to the extent of several years during 
the time of Madame’s absence; she obtained a control 
over the small household that was never quite re- 
linquished until Peter Hilborough engaged her 
services. The news could not be kept from High Street, 
but High Street, informed of Madame’s desire that 
the incident should be regarded as a secret, closed 
its lips tightly when customers arrived, and indeed 
went so far as to say audibly on these occasions, 
“Well, Madame’s got fine weather, after all the rain!” 
and other remarks intended to support the statements 
made by Ethel. Customers said it was a most terrible 
nuisance, and they did think Madame might have 
let them know, and thus have saved a lost journey: 
one or two added darkly that this was certainly not 
the way to keep a business connection together. 

In the household there was a chastened atmosphere, 
and little talk. The usual exchange of chaff was, by 
consent, suspended. Richard’s desire to run errands, 
or make himself useful as a boy of his age could be, 
knew no limitations ; he was allowed to sprint down to 
the hospital and make inquiries, and the girls, looking 
anxiously out of the window, could tell by his features 
the kind of information he brought. High Street, 
all its sympathy aroused, tendered meat pies, and 
fruit puddings, and jellies, amply repaid by obtaining 


86 


MADAME PRINCE 


the latest reports; on Sundays, the children were 
invited to dinner at rooms over some establishment 
where they took precedence in being served, and 
were treated generally with thoughtful consideration 
before starting off to take part in Visiting Day. On 
the second Sunday, when they presented themselves 
at the doors, to go up to the ward in couples, they 
were met by the announcement that Sister reckoned 
their mother too ill to receive company that day. 
They returned slowly to Waterlow Park and sat 
there, a woeful little group, their depression increased 
by the cheerfulness of other folk. Georgina, ordinarily 
quiet, was still quiet, but in comparison with the 
rest appeared almost garrulous, and sketched out 
the future with a heavy hand. She expected they 
would all be placed away in institutions ; one at 
Slough, one at Ham Common, one at Haverstock 
Hill, and one at some other place that made a hobby 
of collecting orphans. Phyllis had to shake her 
violently, and, as this failed to stop her, spoke of 
Georgina’s imperfect complexion, attributing it to 
an excessive partiality for sweets. The debate took 
a new turn. 

News became improved. On the next visit to the 
ward, their mother was sitting up in bed, talking 
with enthusiasm of Sir James and the amazing clever- 
ness shown by Sir James in carrying out the operation. 
Phyllis, without consulting the best authorities on 
etiquette, purchased the following day a sixpenny 
bunch of flowers at the florist’s near the Gate House, 
and walked all the way to a street off Grosvenor 
Square and there pressed a knob and demanded to 
see Sir James. No, she could not leave a message. 
She wished to see Sir James and no one else. A genial 
man stepped out of his carriage as Phyllis was arguing 
this point with the maid-servant, and ten minutes later 
the distinguished member of a profession that does 


MADAME PRINCE 


87 


so many generous acts as to put all other professions 
to shame, conducted Phyllis across the pavement, 
accepted with a slight blush the kiss that the grateful 
youngster gave to him, in full sight of Brook Street, 
and instructed the coachman to drive her to High- 
gate Village. 

“Your mother’s a capital patient,” he said through 
the open window, “and you tell your brother and 
sisters that she’ll be twice the woman she was before 
she went into the hospital.” 

“You are such a dear person,” declared Phyllis, 
impulsively. 

“My fees are not so high as some,” he remarked 
with a twinkle. “Good-bye, you nice little girl.” 

“Good-bye, you great kind man !” 

Madame came back at the time fixed by herself 
and justified the prophecy made in Brook Street. 
Ethel reported, with a matronly air, that the children 
had been as good as angels. Customers, not completely 
mollified, expressed the hope that Madame would 
never again find herself obliged to be absent for so 
long a space from business, and Madame said the 
occasion was special, and was not likely to be repeated. 
The members of the family found themselves some- 
what closer to each other than before. 

These were reminiscences, and disasters that are 
past and over can sometimes be as comforting to 
the thought as the pleasures of the current day. 

It was Mr. Warland, of the ground floor, who, 
when enamelled letters were once being set upon 
Madame’s window, suggested the notice : “Spirits 
of the Finest Quality only.” He argued, in a manner 
complimentary and humorous, that the establishment 
had as good a right to make the announcement 
as any of the fully licensed houses, from the Old 


88 


MADAME PRINCE 


Angel in High Street, to the Flask Tavern in 
South Grove. (Close to the Flask was a house that 
bore the inscription “W. G. 1797”; small schoolboys, 
reckoning with the aid of pencil, argued this as proof 
that the age of an eminent cricketer was greater 
than hand-books suggested.) But The Village had 
the habit of modest advertisement. The stay- 
maker announced briefly, “A Fit for Every Cus- 
tomer”; the confectioner, “Wedding Cakes Pro- 
vided”; the florist, “Evening Parties Supplied”; 
the butcher, “English Meat Only”; the ironmonger, 
“Lawn Mowers Ground and Repaired.” And Madame, 
admitting that the suggested notice might possess 
an element of truth, decided that anything which had 
the air of eccentricity would be out of place on her 
windows. 

“You must remember,” she argued to the dentist, 
“that only about twenty per cent of my people can 
see a joke.” 

“My view is,” said Mr. Warland gallantly, “that 
ladies are improving so far as that is concerned. I 
often find my little funniosities in the operating-room 
go quite as well with one sex as the other. Of course, 
sometimes they don’t go at all !” 

Probably Madame’s customers failed to understand 
how much they owed to her for something provided 
over and above hats and costumes; likely enough 
they took all the credit to themselves. The circum- 
stance remained that a visit to the establishment in 
High Street invariably affected a change in temper, an 
improvement in the general outlook on the world. 
Take the case of Mrs. Blank, of Depressed Terrace, 
N. | To be candid, the postal district is here the only 
detail that can be guaranteed as true and exact.) 
Mrs. Blank, whose husband is in the City, appeals 
to him over breakfast for advice in regard to new 
garments for the coming season. Blank (a trying in- 


MADAME PRINCE 


89 


terview with his tailor ahead of him, and the knowledge 
that his tailor will make a criticism — “You’re getting 
rather comfortable, sir,” in placing the tape around 
the lower part of Mr. Blank’s waistcoat; with the 
recognition, too, that his counsel, if given, would be 
derided) Blank says his wife knows best. Mrs. Blank 
is aware of this, but declares her husband has a right 
to be consulted. Would he like to see her in something 
with stripes? Blank, incautiously, answers, “Yes,” 
and is at once called upon to explain, in a full and 
intelligible manner, this preference for stripes. “Make 
you look taller,” says Blank. Whereupon Mrs. Blank, 
pushing eggs and bacon aside, and rejecting coffee, 
expresses regret that five, five and a half should not 
be reckoned a sufficient height; refers to a Miss 
Splash who, assisted by French heels, manages to 
tower over everybody else, and once, on a Sunday 
morning and outside the church, after obtaining 
from Blank an explanation of the announcement, 
“Consolidated Chapelry of S. Michael,” declared a 
flattering opinion that Mr. Blank knew everything. 
The meal finishes by a fervent hope from Mrs. Blank 
that Providence will arrange, with all convenient 
despatch, that she may be taken to the cemetery 
leaving Blank free to marry either Miss Splash, or, 
as an alternative, the giantess at Barnet Fair. Blank, 
departing for the City, slams the front door. Later, 
Mrs. Blank tells the maids of their faults and compares 
them with servants she was lucky enough to engage 
in earlier days of domestic life. 

Mrs. Blank arrives at High Street on the stroke of 
noon, and in the front room complains there is no 
shade in the roadway; she gives a sneer of contempt 
at Madame’s remark that this will come later in the 
afternoon, and is not to be dissuaded from the view 
that only tact on Madame’s part is necessary to 
remove the grievance. Another customer’s dress shown 


90 


MADAME PRINCE 


to her is received with set features. Fashion plates 
extort from her a plain question. 

“I ask you, Madame. Do you want me to look like 
a guy?” 

And not the least of Madame’s duties is to keep 
back the obvious retort. Instead, she mentions some- 
thing she has heard (or Heaven help her, invented), 
of a flattering nature concerning Mr. Blank’s activi- 
ties in regard to church matters. Mrs. Blank, admitting 
reluctantly, that Blank means well, considers it a 
pity that men should keep their best behaviour for 
the world, and not for the home, and describes the 
altercation of the breakfast table, giving the account, 
so far as she can, verbatim. Madame says that gentle- 
men engaged in the City have a deal of worry by 
day, and wonders whether it would be possible for 
them to live on but for the prospect of returning 
of an evening to a home that furnishes peace, repose, 
and good companionship. Mrs. Blank argues that no 
one could be a better wife to a husband than she has 
been to Mr. Blank; Madame remembers (or — Heaven 
again help her — affects to remember) words said by 
Mr. Blank that support and confirm this contention. 
Mrs. Blank, greatly comforted, asks after Madame’s 
family. Madame answers that, to her deep regret, 
she is shortly losing Ethel, the eldest, and Mrs. Blank, 
cheered by the troubles of other people, says brightly 
that everything in this world is ordered for our good. 
The preliminaries over, Mrs. Blank remarks, 

“Now, don’t waste too much of my time, Madame. 
Let’s come to business !” 

Mrs. Blank leaves in quite a gay disposition, after 
delaying Madame’s lunch by near upon an hour, and 
in going urges Madame to recollect that all clouds 
have a silver lining. “And if ever you feel you want 
cheering up,” she says benevolently, “just you send 
a postcard to me!” 


MADAME PRINCE 


91 


Blank, returning that night from Moorgate Street, 
and expecting to find the wife in whose hearing he 
banged the door earlier in the day, discovers a wife 
who has few resemblances to the other lady, and 
thanks his stars for the change. Little knowing that 
his acknowledgments should go rather to High Street 
where a certain milliner and dressmaker — having 
been called upon to deal with similars of Mrs. Blank, 
in the course of the day — is, at the moment, remarking 
to her daughters that, for some reason or other, she 
is feeling just a little, little bit tired. 


CHAPTER FOUR 


C HARD wrote to Phyllis, begging her to tell 
her mother that he had encountered dis- 
appointment in a quarter which he reckoned 
hopeful ; he trusted Madame would not mind the delay. 
Madame dictated a reply couched in business-like 
tones, which her youngest daughter wrote with care 
and proper obedience, substituting for this, before 
calling on the aid of the pillar box, a communication 
of the same intent but of a more friendly character. 
Peter Hilborough’s mother, thanks in part to Madame’s 
advice and help in the matter of hats and costumes, 
was able to announce, in strict confidence, that she 
was about to wed again ; she begged with some 
earnestness for an opinion in regard to second mar- 
riages and Madame gave the views which the lady ob- 
viously required, and Mrs. Hilborough expressed grati- 
fication on finding that Madame, unlike some, regarded 
the matter in the light of common sense and reason. 
She admitted a certain anxiety in regard to her one 
and only boy, and hoped he might not become the 
prey of some designing creature, for in that case she 
would never forgive herself. Madame thought it 
an error to anticipate the worst. 

“He’s got every quality,” explained the fond mother, 
“to make him attractive. A sweet, gentle, considerate 
manner in private life, and down in Holborn such 

go and determination. The girl who gets him 

What a colour your eldest daughter has got, to be 
sure !” 


92 


MADAME PRINCE 


93 


“She enjoys good health,” explained Madame. 

Peter Hilborough brought the information that 
the ceremony had taken place at the registrar’s 
office quietly, as beseemed the ages of the parties 
concerned ; he mentioned also, with satisfaction, 
that he and his stepfather had gone through their 
first dispute, and Peter offered an assurance that 
he gave as good as he received. He was now 
in rooms in Fairbridge Road, described as pretty 
middling awful, and it became his custom to call at 
High Street, and take supper without any sort of 
invitation. Madame endured his persistent company 
with excellent temper; she did give a definite word 
when he once made a suggestion regarding the bill 
of fare, and the young man had the intelligence 
not to repeat the blunder. For the rest, Madame 
noted that Ethel’s admiration for him continued; 
it was evident the girl saw him as he appeared to 
no other member of the family. 

“And that’s love,” said Madame to herself. 

Worsted one evening in regard to the origin of 
a quotation — Richard said it was from a Shakes- 
pearean play, whilst Hilborough deplored the ignorance 
of youngsters where the Old Testament was concerned 
— defeated by production of documentary evidence 
on this point, Hilborough took up the subject of 
Richard’s future, and, disregarding the hopeful words 
of his first visit, spoke with resolution. It was not, 
he said, for Richard to hold his nose in the air and 
think too much of himself ; all this talk about insurance 
offices was just talk and nothing more; Madame’s 
best plan would be to send the lad on the following 
morning to Holborn Viaduct where an attempt could 
be made to obtain for him a berth as office boy. 
Hilborough contended that there was no disgrace 
in starting at the foot of the ladder; eight bob a 
week was better than nothing at all, and this interval 


94 


MADAME PRINCE 


which was taking place between the finish of school, 
and the beginning of City life, might be looked upon 
as deplorable in the extreme. 

“Is this supposed to be,” demanded Richard, “in 
the firm where you’re employed?” 

“If you’re fortunate, yes.” 

“Bad enough,” declared the other, heatedly, “to 
have to meet you here, Mr. Hilborough, evening after 
evening, without being called upon to see you in 
the daytime.” 

“Richard,” cried Ethel, appealingly. “Mother, 
stop him!” 

“We were quite happy,” the boy went on, “before 
you came along. Just because you’re engaged to 
Ethel you fancy you have the right to take charge 
of the entire household. You don’t really belong to 
our set. You’re an interloper !” 

“That will do ; that will do !” ordered Madame. 

“I’ve said all I wanted to say, mother.” 

“You have said more than you ought to say, my 
dear. Put on your cap and take me out. You haven’t 
asked me to have a run with you for a long time.” 

They left the frowning Hilborough and the dis- 
tressed Ethel to argue on the subject of Richard’s 
behaviour, with Phyllis and Georgina as assessors. 
In North Road, walking briskly, Madame reminded 
the boy that the laws of courtesy were fixed and 
required to be observed closely; nothing was ever 
gained by disregarding them. Richard contended 
that the manner of this particular caller provided 
an excuse for any breach of the rules. “Not so!” 
said Madame, and pointed out that amongst successful 
business folk one encountered many of the Hilborough 
type; men who lacked refinement because their 
attentions had been concentrated on other details. 
Madame spoke of examples met in her early days; 
brusque, tactless individuals who jerked out comments 


MADAME PRINCE 


95 


which created tears, and nevertheless possessed some 
good and useful qualities. Richard, she thought, 
might find himself later on in collision with these, 
and Madame’ s counsel was that, at any cost, temper 
should be preserved. Madame could call to mind 
more than one occasion in her youth when she had 
retorted to superiors in a workroom; she could not 
persuade herself that she had ever done it effectively, 
and if she had done so the other parties were in a 
position to make the most trenchant repartee by 
turning her out. 

“But you are expecting me to be a deaf and 
dumb slave, mother !” 

Certainly not deaf, argued Madame, and there was 
a difference between being cautious in speech and 
wholly deprived of the gift. As to slavery, why, 
not many of us had gained complete freedom. Madame, 
herself, had to suffer from autocratic ladies who were 
never satisfied, always under the impression that 
extraordinary profits were being made out of them, 
and intermittently threatening to take their patronage 
elsewhere. 

“But surely, mother, it makes you get hot all 
over. Makes you feel as though you want to throw 
things at them.” 

“I’ve still got enough of the faults of youth,” she 
answered, “to be tempted to answer ’em back. 
But I don’t, my boy, for the very good reason that 
I’ve got a family of big children to look after, and 
they’re all very dear and precious to me, and want 
none of them, later on, to blame me for anything.” 

“I’ll hurry back,” said Richard with a gulp, “and 
apologise to him.” 

The great news came one day, when it had seemed 
there was no acceptable alternative to Holborn 
Viaduct, and complete submission to Ethel’s sweet- 
heart. The date of the wedding had been fixed 


96 


MADAME PRINCE 


and all in the establishment, including the two 
apprentices, were making some article of wear to 
furnish Ethel’s wardrobe; no other topic but her 
impending marriage was discussed. Presents began 
to arrive, and Hilborough, in inspecting these, judged 
their value in a depreciatory way, searched for indica- 
tions of cost, and when he found and translated the 
marks, hinted that they had been placed there by 
ingenious donors. A house was found near Tufnell 
Park. 

“She wanted to be closer to you, Madame,” said 
the young man, confidentially, “but I’ve seen and 
heard too much of the interference of mothers-in-law 
to allow that. Don’t mind me speaking plainly, 
do you? It’s best to begin as you mean to go on, 
isn’t it?” 

“I’ve no wish to lose sight completely of my eldest 
daughter when she is married.” 

“Now and again,” he agreed, “it may perhaps be 
arranged for you and her to meet. But what I want 
to avoid is anything like a continual unexpected 
dropping in of relatives, and staying on to meals, 
and chattering and gossiping about this, that and 
the other. So if you’ll kindly bear all that in your 
memory, and hint it to the rest, it’ll prevent a lot 
of misunderstanding and mutual annoyance.” Madame 
turned to go, but he had something more to say. 
“If I’m hampered or inconvenienced, I shan’t be 
able to carry out the plan that’s in my mind, and 
that is to improve Ethel, to the best of my ability. 
You’ve done your best, Madame, no doubt, both in 
regard to her and to the others, but I’m not going 
to flatter you by saying that any of ’em are perfect. 
The only one, of course, that I’m concerned with is 
Ethel, and it will shortly become my duty to take 
entire charge and control of her. I think I’ve said 
enough to make myself clear.” 


MADAME PRINCE 


97 


“More than enough, Mr. Hilborough.” 

“If you like, you can call me Peter.” 

Phyllis rushed in, excitedly. Madame turned to 
her with relief. 

“News, news!” cried the girl, waving a sheet of 
letter paper. 

Dated from an address in the City, the note told 
dear Miss Phyllis that a nomination had been at last 
obtained; the writer felt sorry for the delay, but 
the office was a particularly good one, and competition 
for vacancies was keen. Richard would have to pass 
an examination at a College in Moorfields; he would 
be seen by the doctor, and this done satisfactorily, 
he could begin work at once at sixty pounds a year. 
Phyllis and her mother, comparing the figures with 
those which had been suggested in connection with 
Holborn Viaduct, beamed delightedly. Madame, 
looking again at the note, detected a postscript, 
and inquired whether this had been observed. Phyllis, 
it appeared, had not missed it, but declared that, 
“When, when are we to see each other again?” 
struck her as being merely the title of a song which 
Chard desired to recommend to her notice. One of 
the apprentices was despatched in search of Richard, 
and brought back the protesting lad: he had been 
found talking learnedly with his friend at the second- 
hand bookshop, and resenting the interruption and the 
manner of it, came up the stairs demanding im- 
patiently, “What’s the row, now?” Informed, 
he kissed his mother, kissed his sister, and admitted 
that contemporaries in The Village had begun to 
say, 

“Hullo, old chap. Can’t you find anything to do?” 

Here was something that would save him from 
the necessity of making flights of invention, or the 
abased attitude that the truth involved. It was great, 
it was splendid, it was magnificent; all the better 


98 


MADAME PRINCE 


indeed for the waiting. Richard, regaining composure, 
said he had thought of thirty-five, had dreamt of 
fifty; sixty had been considered beyond all limits 
of possibility. Taking pencil and paper, the lad planned 
out a scheme by which he paid his mother generously 
for board and lodging; set aside a fixed sum for 
his own clothes, a small amount for taking a sister 
occasionally to the play; a margin was left to be 
placed each month in the Post Office savings bank. 
As a first step in the new plan, Richard borrowed 
from Madame half a sovereign, and going down 
into Holloway purchased a tea service, to be offered 
to Ethel as his own present on the occasion of her 
wedding. 

The interest shown in regard to Ethel suffered no 
diminution by reason of the boy’s impending start 
in work. On the question of finding someone qualified 
to come forward at the ceremony when the inquiry 
was put, “Who giveth this woman to be married 
to this man?” it proved, after consideration, that 
Uncle Jim Lambert, although not an ideal actor for 
the part, would have to be selected. Indeed, a note 
from Madame’s sister conveyed an urgent and private 
request that he should be approached; he had an- 
nounced that he did not propose to go into Maid- 
stone and buy a case of knives and forks, until the 
invitation arrived. “And, as his heart is set on it,” 
wrote Aunt Emma, “it seems a pity to disappoint 
him, and moreover, I should never hear the last of 
it. He has promised to get himself a new top hat.” 
So a letter was sent and duly acknowledged by Jim. 
“If I have nothing better to do on the day in question, 
I will give myself the trouble, and put myself to the 
expense of coming up to London, as requested.” 
This was but a detail ; several more important 
matters had to be settled. The temporary closing 
of the establishment. Preparations for the wedding 


MADAME PRINCE 


99 


breakfast (Hilborough sent word by Ethel that he 
expected this to be, not one of your stand about and 
sip coffee affairs, but a proper, regular, sit-down 
business with food of a quality and a quantity sufficient 
to carry them both through a long journey) . Costumes 
for Georgina and Phyllis in their first performance 
as bridesmaids. Madame had also to give some thought 
to her own dress for the occasion. From Hilborough 
came the information that his mother did not propose 
to attend either at the church, or at High Street 
later; she deeply resented the behaviour of Madame 
in keeping a secret from one who had been a good 
customer for many years; if Madame thought she 
was likely to get another order for so much as a 
pennyworth from Hilborough’s mother, then Madame 
was seriously mistaken. The lady added an expres- 
sion of regret that her own son should be marrying 
someone belonging to an inferior station in life to 
his own; a part of the general message which Hil- 
borough duly transmitted. 

“What did you say to that, dear?” asked Madame. 
She and Ethel were in the kitchen, where the girl 
was making determined efforts to obtain practical 
knowledge in the art of cooking. 

“I laughed, mother.” 

“The best thing to do,” approved Madame. 

“I’m afraid it wasn’t,” said Ethel. “Peter got 
cross.” 

“You want to be careful in making this sauce,” 
said her mother, changing the subject, “to be sure 
to put the merest taste of ” 

“Mother dear,” interrupted Ethel, “I know you 
are not altogether pleased with the man I’ve chosen, 
but you’re too kind-natured to say so. There’s so 
much that’s good in him that I fancy, in the course 
of a year or two, you’ll see a difference in Peter. 
It’s not going to be done by passing a magic wand 


100 


MADAME PRINCE 


over his head, and I’m not going to start until I’m 
Mrs. Hilborough. Mrs. Hilborough will be able to 
talk in a way that Miss Prince is not allowed to.” 
Phyllis appeared at the doorway. “How long 
ought a beef-steak pudding to be allowed to boil? 
Peter mentioned only yesterday evening that he is 
rather fond of them.” 

“The talk,” remarked Phyllis, “that goes on 
between engaged couples appears to be full of senti- 
ment and high romance. Here’s another parcel for 
you, Ethel. Feels like a cloth brush and tray, and 
if so, it makes the seventh you’ve got. Jolly to have 
a separate one for each day of the week.” 

Many of the presents were, indeed, of an economical 
nature; from certain of the school- fellows of earlier 
years who had married, came simple articles as 
reciprocatory gifts. On the night before the great 
day, a commissionaire arrived with a neat flat wooden 
case addressed to Miss Prince, and he was particular 
about handing it to Miss Prince and to no one else, 
explaining that his people dealt in goods of some 
value, and prided themselves on exact and careful 
delivery. Ethel carried it upstairs, and the entire 
family leaned interestedly over the table as screws 
were loosened, and a second box, this one of card- 
board, produced. White tissue paper, and then a 
large round silver dish with a tag bearing the inscrip- 
tion, “Geo. II., 1753.” A card said, “With all 
the best wishes from Sir Ernest Chard.” 

“Ethel,” said Phyllis, “you are indebted to the 
beautiful eyes of your younger sister for this.” 

Hilborough, calling to ascertain, as he said, how 
many blunders and oversights had been committed 
in regard to the arrangements for the morrow, ad- 
mitted that the present was a genuine bit of goods. 
Addressing Ethel, he remarked that he would expect 
it to be kept as clean and as bright as the prize cups 


MADAME PRINCE 


101 


which he already possessed. “I want no half larks,” 
he said, “where looking after the house is concerned. 
Someone, a married chap, said to me at the shop 
this morning, ‘You’ll find out early in the course 
of next year what spring cleaning means/ I answered 
him back sharp. I said, ‘I shall want spring cleaning 
done, in my house, all the year round/ ” The family, 
when Ethel escorted him downstairs to the front door, 
gave a concerted sigh. 

“Of all the pigs ” began Richard. “I wish to 

goodness I hadn’t to be in attendance at the church 
to-morrow. Makes me feel as though I was partly 
responsible.” 

Richard was able, by the help of events, to excuse 
himself from attendance at the ceremony. A letter 
came by the first post from the insurance office directing 
him to attend for the examination ; his mother, 
detaching herself from other tasks, prepared him, 
giving a special polish to his boots, and herself escorting 
him to the College near Moorgate Street station, and 
handing him over there to a genial secretary, who 
promised to be answerable for Richard’s safety for 
a time, and to send someone with him, later, to the 
tramway terminus. Madame wished the boy good 
luck, and, despite the calls on her time, went further 
south and discovered, in Lothbury, a church. There 
were three middle-aged City men in the building, 
all with bent heads and lips moving silently; she 
assumed that they, like herself, were engaged in 
asking for some special and particular favour. 

“Never mind about me, dear Lord,” she prayed, 
“but do, do, look after the boy.” 

At home, it was necessary to throw off any aspect 
of seriousness, and to give attention to Ethel, to 
endeavour to convince Uncle Jim that she was glad 
to see him, and to spare some moments to listening 
to her sister. Jim Lambert, it appeared, had been 


102 


MADAME PRINCE 


less trying of late, and his wife feared this meant 
his health was not good: she could think of no other 
cause likely to precede this extraordinary effect. Once 
quite recently, he had kissed her. “And yet,” declared 
the perplexed Mrs. Lambert, “he was as sober as a 
judge at the time.” Certainly Uncle Jim seemed 
less truculent in manner, and he was almost pathetic 
in his appeals to all to express an opinion whether 
or not his new silk hat suited him; reassured by the 
family on this point, he mentioned that the drawback 
of making an investment of the nature at his time of 
life was that he could scarcely hope to live long enough 
to wear it out. Its predecessor, he told Phyllis, was 
now holding a special quality of seed potatoes. 

“A simple task, uncle,” she suggested, “after 
protecting for many years a cultivated brain.” 

“It’s the way of the world,” he said, dismally. 
“Old age ought, by rights, to obtain more respect 
than anything else, but it don’t. It don’t, not by 
a long shot. You’ll find that out for yourself, my gel, 
in due course.” 

“I am discovering it already.” 

“Mean to say that the young men are taking no 
notice of you?” 

“They simply ignore my existence,” said Phyllis. 

“This’ll have to be put right,” said Jim Lambert 
with concern. “It’s hard on you, my gel. Always 
looked on you as one of the merry ones.” 

“I fear I am not alone,” she said gravely, “in 
wearing a comic mask to conceal the tragedy of my 
life. ‘My days are in the yellow leaf, The flowers 
and fruits of love are gone.’ ” 

“You surprise me,” declared Jim Lambert. “I’d 
got no idea. Why ever didn’t you mention it before?” 

Phyllis’s remarks— made for no better reason than 
that of engaging her uncle in polite conversation- 
had for consequence an addition to the anxieties 


MADAME PRINCE 


103 


of the day. At the church, Peter Hilborough was 
waiting when the party arrived: with him a super- 
latively well-dressed youth, who introduced himself 
as Mr. Marsh. “Steve to my friends,” he added. 
At the first convenient opportunity, when the cere- 
mony was over, and the signing in the vestry was 
being done, Uncle Jim Lambert took this young 
man aside and spoke to him for a while earnestly 
and confidentially. 

“Seems incredible,” commented the youth. 

“Mean to say I’m telling you a lie ?” 

“My dear sir,” said Marsh, “don’t misunderstand 
me. All I meant was that she’s such a very attractive 
piece of goods that I should have thought ” 

“There ain’t no accounting for it. There it is and 
it’s what I call a hard case. If you can do anything 
to cheer he.r up and make her feel that she ain’t 
altogether neglected, I’ll send you as nice a half 
sieve of apples as ever you put your teeth into. Is 
it a bargain?” 

“Rather !” said Marsh, promptly. 

Thus it was that when the bride and bridegroom 
drove home, and Madame and Georgina, and the two 
country visitors left in the second carriage, young 
Marsh suggested to Phyllis that they should not 
wait for the return of the first, but walk, and to this 
Phyllis agreed. He said, on the way, that he had 
an idea the morning was going to be an important 
junction in his life. Hitherto able to get along fairly 
well without very much in the way of female society, 
he could see now that his chum Hilborough was acting 
wisely in selecting a companion for life, and in choosing 
her from the Prince family. Phyllis abstained from 
making any but the most cautious answers, and ex- 
perienced some relief when they mounted the staircase 
of the house in High Street. 

“Making progress, my lad?” whispered Uncle Jim, 


104 


MADAME PRINCE 


and received a nod in reply. “That’s right. Keep 
to it. Faint heart never won fair lady.” 

Peter Hilborough, himself in a slightly chastened 
mood, owing to the importance of the day, and 
already obeying quiet hints in regard to deportment 
that were given by his bride, mentioned to her that 
he had selected Marsh as a dressy man whose appear- 
ance would do credit to the occasion, and as perhaps 
the quietest and most retiring chap of his acquaint- 
ance. At the meal, the best man scarcely lived up 
to all of these recommendations. Madame looked 
on with surprise to find her youngest daughter made 
the objective of such determined admiration; once 
or twice she interposed, but the young man seemed 
under the impression that there was nobody at the 
table besides Phyllis and himself. Georgina watched 
them eagerly, ignoring food lest anything should escape 
her notice. 

“Marsh !” called Peter Hilborough across the 
table. He had to repeat the summons twice ere he 
gained the other’s attention. “You’ll pardon me 
for remarking on a circumstance that you seem to 
have forgotten, but this is my wedding-day. Mine: 
not yours !” 

“Do you — do you want me to propose a toast, 
or something?” stammered the dazed youth. 

“I simply mention the fact.” 

“If there’s going to be any speechifying,” said 
Jim Lambert, rising slowly from his chair, “I think 
it’s me that ought to be called on to make a start.” 
The constraint which had existed as a result of Marsh’s 
obvious infatuation, suffered the increase that always 
arrives when an audience is small, and confidence 
in the speaker not complete. Jim Lambert looked 
towards Madame in an aggressive way as one expecting 
to receive commands which he did not intend to 
obey; she nodded pleasantly, and this put the country 


MADAME PRINCE 


105 


gentleman, for the moment, off his stroke. Recovering, 
Jim Lambert said that he regarded himself as the 
most important relative 

“Oh, oh !” said the bridegroom. 

“Peter,” whispered the bride warningly. 

— And as such it was his duty to be present on this 
occasion, and to take dharge, so to speak, and to keep 
his eyes open, as it were, and generally to see that 
the marriage of his eldest niece did credit to her side 
of the family. Aunt Emma’s agitation, as her husband 
proceeded to deal out compliments with a heavy 
hand, was painful to witness; she pleated the table- 
cloth, she moved wine glasses, she clasped hands 
tightly, she adjusted flowers that were in a china 
bowl near to her; once she ventured to give a gentle 
fug at the husband’s coat-tails, and was told by the 
orator that if she did this again she would be sorry 
for it. The point which Jim Lambert came to, with 
emphasis, was that one wedding meant many. 

“Not necessarily,” remarked Hilborough. 

“Peter,” ordered his wife, “don’t interrupt!” 

The speaker remarked on the difference between 
himself and the bridegroom of the day: he, Jim 
Lambert, knew what he was talking about, whilst 
Peter Hilborough had nothing more than the faintest 
glimmering of an idea. You could say what you liked, 
but undoubtedly — as he had already remarked — ■ 
one we.dding did make many. And he offered this 
to Madame as a thought which, in his opinion, ought 
to cheer her up, and induce her to believe that the 
world was not such a contrary sort of place as some 
people thought it. Madame had been burdened for 
some time with three great, big lolloping girls. Girls, 
in Jim Lambert’s view, required to be fed and to 
be dressed, and goodness knew what all, and it was 
no use you telling him that this could be done without 
a considerable amount of expense. He hoped now that 


106 


MADAME PRINCE 


Madame’s daughters had made a start, they would con- 
tinue. At one time, he had begun to fear they never 
would go off : he appealed to his wife for confirmation 
of 'this statement, and the nervous lady said, “No, 
Jim!” and being roared at, hastily corrected with an 
affirmative reply. He recollected in his own case that 
he had not dreamt of getting married — the thought 
had scarcely entered his mind — until he happened to 
be at a railway station, and caught sight of a wedding- 
party. Jim Lambert was not going to do ill- justice 
to the intelligence of his hearers by suggesting that 
he had made a fortunate choice: he admitted that 
he ought to have given more time to the task of selec- 
tion, instead of accepting the; first young woman 
who made eyes at him. However, that was by the 
way. What could not be cured must be endured. 
So far as his nieces were concerned, he hoped and 
trusted the remaining two would clear out of the 
house before a twelve-month was up, and give their 
mother a chance of putting by a bit of money for her 
old age. To the relief of everybody but himself — he 
seemed loth to finish, evidently regarding this as an 
end to the gaiety of the occasion — Jim Lambert 
sat down. The others made applause with handles 
of fruit knives; he leaned back and contemplated 
the rosette of the ceiling. 

“You’re quite mistaken,” said Madame. Her 
brother-in-law sent his gaze in her direction as one 
unable to credit the words that reached his ears. “I’m 
not in the least anxious to lose them. It’s quite true 
I haven’t been able to save, but I don’t mind that. 
I can stand the risk of that. Wliere you’re wrong is 
in thinking I am anxious to get rid of my girls. I 
love all three.” She smiled at each in order. “And 
I shall miss them more than I can express when they 
leave me. That s what I wanted to say. Now we can 
clear the table.” 


MADAME PRINCE 


107 


“One moment,” said Peter Hilborough firmly, 
“if you please. No toast, or vote, or what-not has 
been submitted by the last speaker, but that was 
doubtless an oversight on his part. Assuming that 
it was his intention to propose the health of the bride 
and bridegroom, I wish to thank him for his kind 
words, and to say that I fully recognise how fortunate 
I am in marrying a young lady who has had the 
bringing up that Madame has given to her.” A long 
pause. It was now the turn of Ethel to experience 
the mental turmoil that comes to a wife when her 
husband is endeavouring to make a speech. “I had 
plenty more to say,” went on Hilborough, “but I’ve 
forgotten it. I am aware that I don’t shine particu- 
larly bright when I’m in society. I haven’t got the 
knack, and it’s no use pretending I have. But I assure 
you, Madame, speaking as a business man to a busi- 
ness woman, that I shall do my best to be a good 
husband.” 

When the expressions of approval stopped, Marsh’s 
voice was heard. “What wonderful eyes you have, 
Miss Phyllis !” he said. Miss Phyllis, in no way 
discomposed by the fervent attitude of the best man, 
replied that they were, indeed, reckoned a good 
pair; at any rate, they enabled her to see as far as 
most people were able to do. The youth followed 
her closely and attentively as Phyllis did her share 
in removing the contents of the table; he displayed 
ecstasy in being allowed to assist her in folding the 
white cloth. 

. “You’ve got me to thank for that,” said Jim 
Lambert aside to Madame. “You’re only a woman, 
and you don’t know how to manage these affairs. I 
give him the hint, I did, and the young chap’s had 
the sense to take it. Bet you what you like she’ll be 
the next to go.” 

High Street showed interest in the departure of 


108 


MADAME PRINCE 


the newly married couple. The dentist’s sister was 
alone in shedding tears; she said, “Poor soul!” 
in regarding Ethel as the girl stepped into the hansom ; 
other residents put heads out of upper windows, or 
stood near shops and smiled, waved hands, and 
commented, in whispers, on the good taste of 
the going away costume. Marsh had promised to 
bring from upstairs a bag of confetti, and as the 
cab started it was discovered he had forgotten to do 
this. 

“Demented lad!” cried Phyllis. “What on earth 
were you thinking about ?” 

“You,” he replied fervently. “And I shall never 
think of anybody else so long as I live.” 

High Street, having seen the hansom go down the 
hill, observed the devotion shown by the best man 
to the youngest daughter of the family; the general 
opinion, expressed with an amused giggle by ladies, 
was that the chap had certainly got it bad. 

Richard condoled with on the fact that he had 
missed the entertainment, said, importantly, that one 
could not allow business to interfere with pleasure. 
News came, days later, that the examination had 
been passed satisfactorily. The medical man of the 
insurance office was contented. One morning, ever to 
be remembered, Richard went off to help the City, 
and Madame insisted, despite his argument, upon 
accompanying him. At the office, she saw the manager 
of the fire department, and in a confused way, most 
unusual to her, made an explanation. She had been 
told it was necessary to furnish a copy of the lad’s 
birth certificate, and her account of the disasters which 
had happened to this form were so involved that 
the manager said pleasantly — 

“Oh, we’ll do without it, for once.” 

That night, Madame recorded an important entry 
in the well-bound book which contained the family 


MADAME PRINCE 


109 


records. In doing so, she glanced at the pages headed 
by the name of Georgina. 

“Not much happening there!” she remarked. 

Georgina, soon after this, encountered a romance 
of her own. It was of brief duration, and as it conveys 
a lesson, there is reason why it should be set down 
here. 

Mr. Flint, inspector at London Bridge, came into 
High Street on a peaceful Sunday morning (when bells 
had long ceased to ring and the inns were preparing 
for bona fide travellers, and the Salvation Army 
band could be heard in the distance) filling and more 
than filling a side car attached to a motor cycle. 
The driver of this, when he had removed the disguise 
of goggles, was introduced as no less a person than 
our Mr. Chetwood of the Superintendent’s department; 
Madame offered a welcome, and regretted her daughters 
were not at home. Mr. Chetwood said at once 
this did not matter in the least. He preferred to 
meet sensible, middle-aged, common-place, ordinary 
people. 

“Like yourself,” said Chetwood, gallantly. 

Girls, he found, expected a great deal too much 
in the way of attentions, theatres, boxes of chocolates, 
flattering remarks, and so on, and so forth. People 
often told him it was to be regretted that he could 
not bring himself to look upon youthful members 
of the opposite sex with greater favour, but, there 
you were, and Chetwood’s contention was that no 
advantage could be found in arguing about it. All 
the same, he did speak on the subject at some length, 
until Inspector Flint — despite the sense of indebted- 
ness experienced by one ordinarily in uniform when 
taken out by a representative of the head offices — 
ventured to suggest that his companion was perhaps 
taking up an extravagant share in the conversation. 


110 


MADAME PRINCE 


Flint told Madame that he, able to obtain passes 
on the railway without difficulty, and privilege tickets 
at a reduced price with ease, had embarked upon this 
outing just for the sake of novelty. 

“You get tired of trains,” he said, “when you’re 
playing with them all day long, and every day, except 
an alternate Sunday off. So that when Mr. Chetwood 
strolled up to me on the platform yesterday afternoon 
and suggested this trip, I welcomed it, so to speak, 
with open arms. And coming up this deuce and all 
of a hill, I says to myself, 'Why, dang my eyes if 
this ’ent where her what used to be Milly Hammond 
now lives.’ And when I catches sight of your name 
on the first floor, nothing would satisfy me but I 
must get him to stop.” He turned to Chetwood. 
“Isn’t that right, sir?” 

“It’s the truth,” admitted the other. He went to 
the edge of the pavement and examined the machine. 

“Will you come upstairs, Mr. Flint, and take some 
refreshments?” 

“Not if you’re alone,” said the Inspector firmly. 

“Then I must bring it down,” said Madame. Flint 
called after her, protesting against this trouble being 
taken. 

“Cider!” cried the Inspector, as she came with 
a tray. “Don’t tell me it’s Kentish cider. ’Pon my 
word, if you don’t know my weaknesses better than 
I know ’em myself. Mr. Chetwood, sir, what ever 
do you think this good lady has brought us? Come 
and have a look !” 

They stood inside the doorway that Chetwood 
might keep an affectionate eye on his cycle and car, 
and there the young man from the Superintendent’s 
department gave more autobiographical details. He 
was, he said, to all intents and purposes a teetotaller 
but, mark you, not bigoted. Chetwood’s theory, 
which he offered to Madame for what it happened 


MADAME PRINCE 


111 


to be worth, was that a man ought to find out how 
much he could eat and drink with comfort, and then 
take care never to go beyond these fixed limits. 
Might be right, might be wrong, said Chetwood of 
himself, but that, at any rate, was his candid opinion. 
If people liked to differ from him, it was their own 
affair. Chetwood was a great believer in freedom of 
thought. Considered that every man was the best 
judge of his own actions. He himself, was the last 
to interfere, or to give advice. Chetwood, becoming 
eloquent under the influence of attentive hearers, 
and of cider, went on to contend that if all followed 
his example the world would be a brighter and a better 
place, and presently became quite heated in arguing 
against a suppositious opponent. Madame and 
Inspector Flint made one or two attempts to talk 
about old friends; Chetwood urged that they should 
listen to him, if only for the purpose of improving 
their minds. 

‘‘Here come my daughters/’ said Madame. 

“Flint,” ordered Chetwood, “pull yourself together, 
and be on your best behaviour.” 

Phyllis chatted with the Inspector, whilst her 
mother carried the tray upstairs. Georgina, always 
looking her best in white on Sundays, was presented 
to the cycle and car by their owner. Georgina knew 
-nothing of such matters, and wanted them explained; 
Chetwood, in no way unwilling, left nothing unde- 
scribed. Phyllis said at the midday meal afterwards, 
•that the sight of two heads set so closely together 
had given her a shock from which, she feared, she 
would not for many long years recover. Georgina 
admitted that the young man, when he succeeded 
in persuading the reluctant machine to start, had 
shouted out that he would call one morning, if he 
•could wake up sufficiently early. 

It appeared that either he had forgotten the promise, 


112 


MADAME PRINCE 


or that attractions of the pillow were too great. 
Georgina, rarely one to trouble about appearance 
•in the early hours, dressed with care at half-past seven, 
and force had to be used to persuade her to leave 
the window, and sit at the breakfast table. This went 
on for the rest of the week. On Saturday morning, 
Georgina said desperately — 

“Well, I shall give him one more chance !” 

And was prepared for the reception of a caller 
at twenty minutes to eight. No Chet wood appeared. 
Georgina spoke scornfully of all men, and in particular 
of youths engaged in the head offices of southern 
railways. 

Dressing on Sunday mornings was a task requiring 
care, and deliberation; the demands upon the bath- 
room were less persistently continuous than on week- 
days, and it did not really matter if breakfast were 
taken so late as half-past nine. Georgina, the last to 
come out of the bathroom, was advised by her mother 
to make direct for the meal ; otherwise the coffee would 
be losing its valuable quality of heat. Richard com- 
plained that the Sunday newspapers had not arrived; 
he had recently inspected the doormat below. As he 
spoke, a knock came, and the delicate question of 
who should fetch the journals was raised for dis- 
cussion. Richard pointed out that he had already 
made the journey; Phyllis contended that she had 
no immediate desire to see the newspaper. Georgina, 
with a glance at untended hair in the mirror, pulled 
her dressing-gown around her, and remarking, self- 
sympathetically, “Poor Cinderella. All the work to 
do as usual 1” went downstairs. She returned with 
no journals, but carrying a bunch of carnations, and 
shewing a look of astonishment. 

“That Mr. Chetwood!” she announced, amazedly. 
“I took off the chain, and unbolted the door, and 
opened it, and there he was. And he looked at me 


MADAME PRINCE 


US 


and he said, ‘Oh, good gracious!’ and he thrust 
these into my hand, and hurried off, without another 
word. Whatever does it all mean ?” 

Her mother and Phyllis offered tactful and kindly 
suggestions. Richard interposed with a more candidly 
expressed view. 

“.You frightened him !” he said. 


CHAPTER FIVE 


N invitation written by Phyllis at the request 



of her mother, was sent to Ethel. The reply 


-^-came that P. H. held the view that Christmas 
Day should be devoted to the home. Phyllis was given 
the task of issuing the verbal notices to acquaint- 
ances in The Village. 

“Look in on us during the evening, if you have 
nothing better to do.” 

Some accepted readily ; others begged that the 
question might be left open; a few said they would 
like nothing better only that the governor and the 
mater held prejudices which, it appeared, were similar 
to those advanced by Ethel’s husband. On Christmas 
Eve, Madame was down in Holloway making final 
purchases, with Richard as a porter. They walked 
back in the absence of tram-cars, and noticed the 
signs of the period with everybody on remarkably good 
terms with everyone, exultant accounts given by 
business men of success in raffles, and an apprehensive 
look on the features of matrons, which, being trans- 
lated, meant, 

“Now, have I forgotten anything?” 

Shopkeepers in High Street, condoling with each 
other on the large amount of traffic done during the 
week, broke off to say, “Good night, Madame. Merry 
Christmas to you!” A constable touched his helmet 
and remarked that Madame and her boy seemed to 
be well loaded: he trusted they would both have a 
merry Christmas. The road sweeper, going home with 


MADAME PRINCE 


115 


a turkey, holding it as though it were an infant, 
and telling it to be a nice little bird, and go off to 
bye-byes, made a fairly successful effort to walk 
straight on catching sight of Madame, and said, 
“Mer’ Chrimsas !” and took the trouble to return 
and add as a codicil, “Also hap’ New Year!” Phyllis 
and Georgina were waiting up. They had not been 
idle: Phyllis was able to announce that the instruc- 
tions left by her mother concerning domestic duties 
had been carried out. Madame, having disposed 
of her parcels, went to the cupboard and brought 
the large square bottle of elderberry wine of that 
year’s vintage, the present of Aunt Emma; the wine 
was diluted with hot water, not so much to reduce 
its strength as to increase the appearance of joyousness, 
and the members of the family, raising glasses high, 
wished each other a merry Christmas. The post came, 
at an abnormally late hour, as they were taking the 
final sip. A full post, with cards saying in rhyme: 
“May all earth’s blessings fall on thee, And happy 
may thy Christmas be,” or words to that effect. One 
or two, addressed to Phyllis, were anonymous, and 
the writing could not be identified. Richard offered 
a word of chaff. 

“The crime,” admitted Phyllis, “that they are 
sent by some young man is one that I neither palliate, 
nor attempt to deny.” 

“All of my cards,” complained Georgina, arranging 
the evening’s bag on the sideboard, “come from 

girls*” 

Christmas morning had a leisurely air at the outset ; 
High Street, with a slight powdering of snow as though 
it had made up its complexion carefully, was empty 
from end to end. But, once the first scent came of 
cooked food, it was not long ere every house gave signs 
of animation. In the Prince establishment breakfast 
was eaten ere the formal business of the day took 


116 


MADAME PRINCE 


place, and this, when it came, was attended by rules. 
Richard, as the youngest, tendered a parcel to Madame, 
who happened to be the eldest, and said : 

“Mother, I’ve bought this for you: I hope you’ll 
like it.” 

And Madame, opening the parcel, with a proper 
economy in regard to string, cried, when the contents 
appeared, 

“Why, you dear boy. This is exactly what I’ve 
been wanting for ever such a long time.” 

Georgina and Phyllis, observing the same regula- 
tions, tendered offerings which were received with 
like satisfaction; the proceedings terminated with 
the bestowal upon Richard of presents that exceeded 
the rest in value. A pair of skates (because, even in 
winter, ice may be encountered). A cricket bat (its 
predecessor had been repaired more than once, and 
was now superannuated). Three volumes by Charles 
Dickens (these made the set, owned by Richard, 
complete). Phyllis and Richard were sent off to 
church, and Georgina and her mother folded back 
sleeves to the elbow, put on aprons, and set themselves 
to the considerable task of preparing the midday 
meal. 

A great dinner. A good dinner. A most excellent 
dinner. Madame herself admitted that she had rarely 
met a more satisfactory bird, comparing it indeed 
to one of nineteen hundred and four, which had 
hitherto held the foremost place. Georgina said, at 
her second helping, that she would not care to have 
turkey on the menu every day of her life; the others 
hastened to point out that she need have no apprehen- 
sions in this respect. Of the plum pudding, Madame 
said with impartiality, when she tasted it, that she 
had made better, and had made worse; the others 
declared it scored a high success. 

“This,” said Madame reminiscently, “was where 


MADAME PRINCE 


117 


your poor father used to enjoy his smoke. He had a 
theory that a smoke was always good, but at no time 
quite so good as after a hearty meal. And at Christmas, 
when he was alive, the house was all over cigars. 
Boxes of them.” 

“I don’t intend,” remarked Richard, “to smoke 
before I am eighteen.” 

“It is to be hoped,” suggested Phyllis, “that the 
world will not have to wait too long for this extremely 
diverting incident. Richard, dear, don’t contort 
your features, please.” 

“You story! I wasn’t making a face!” 

“My error, perhaps,” admitted his sister. “But 
in all the circumstances, I think, an excusable one.” 

“If only girls were half as clever as they fancy they 


Madame arrested the squabble by going on with 
memories. Their father had once dressed up as Father 
Christmas. Another time he bought the rocking-horse, 
now, in its old age, the property of a day nursery, 
and working harder than ever. On yet another 
December anniversary, his arrival was eagerly ex- 
pected, and the children were allowed to stay up, 
and no father came; it appeared that, having ex- 
perienced a tiring week in the Midlands, he had gone 
to sleep in the compartment, and the train, under 
the impression that it was empty, shunted itself 
from St. Pancras into a siding at Maiden Lane, where 
father spent one night and half a day, before the 
carriage sweepers aroused him. 

“He was a trifle cross,” said Madame, “when he 
did manage to reach home, but you children soon 
cheered him up.” 

“Which of us did he like best?” asked Georgina. 

“I have a sort of idea,” said the boy, “that he 
never took quite so much notice of me, as he did 
of the girls.” Madame declared that Richard had no 


118 


MADAME PRINCE 


grounds for this suspicion. Father was always most 
careful not to make a favourite of any one of them. 
Father liked all of the children equally. “Perhaps 
I’m wrong,” conceded Richard. “And now,” chal- 
lenging Phyllis, “try to say something smart about 
that !” 

“Too easy,” she replied. “I like difficult tasks.” 

There were oranges to be peeled, and nuts to be 
cracked, and almonds and raisins to be passed around; 
it was four o’clock ere the family realised that tea- 
time was near. They bustled themselves so soon as 
the fact became apparent, but Madame was compelled 
under a threat of violence, to take the easy chair 
and to remain in it, and she found herself waited upon 
by the entire strength of the establishment. At 
seven o’clock the first visitors arrived. 

Mr. Herbert Alden and Mr. Cyril Alden, both of 
Bismarck Road, and bringing information that their 
sisters would have accompanied them but for pains 
which she had specially instructed were to be de- 
scribed as those attending a nervous headache; the 
two young men announced, shamelessly, that the 
indisposition was one really due to overeating. Bright 
youths, the Aldens, but with a touch of austerity 
in speaking to Madame of Home Rule, and other 
public matters ; the fact that they were engaged 
in Government offices demanded a certain reticence 
in speech. But when conversation came to local 
matters, they knew all about impending engagements, 
and engagements cancelled, and engagements that 
were developing into marriage, ever speaking, in 
sympathetic tones, of the gentleman concerned. 
“Poor old Bobby : he’s been snapped up at last. 
Sorry for him, but, of course, it’s no use interfering. 
We both warned him long ago, but one might as well 
have talked to a mantelpiece.” For a pair of misogy- 
nists they were extraordinarily attentive to Georgina 


MADAME PRINCE 


119 


and to Phyllis, fetching hassocks from distant corners, 
arranging the screen to keep out even a suspicion of a 
draught, begging permission to light cigarettes, 
and this obtained, declining to avail themselves of 
the freedom on the grounds that ladies often said 
they had no objection to smoke, when, as a matter 
of fact, they did object to smoke. The young Aldens, 
replacing silver cases (thin and slightly curved so that 
the figure might not be rendered bulky) in pockets, 
said of themselves, with the air of elderly hopeless 
rakes, that they smoked a great deal too much, 
and they feared it was beginning to tell on the con- 
stitution. 

“We racket about so,” said Master Cyril, gloomily. 
“Shall have to turn over a new leaf, I suppose, 
sooner or later. Generally ten minutes past eleven 
before we blow out the gas.” 

The Misses Hadford came (four in all) describing 
themselves apologetically as a most awful crowd, 
and giving the opinion that it was a crying shame 
to take Madame by storm in this manner ; they 
protested, almost as in a glee, that no one was to give 
up chairs on their account, and declared the hearthrug 
quite good enough for them. And on the hearthrug 
they sat, declining hospitable offers, and showing 
ankles that justified public display, excepting in 
the case of the eldest Miss Hadford, who solved the 
difficulty by kneeling and sitting back upon her heels. 
Three more young gentlemen and one lady arrived 
(the Dicksons: youngest boy, a chum of Richard’s) 
and inquiries were made regarding music; who had 
brought music, and who had been so thoughtless 
as to leave music at home. The Hadford girls had 
not only brought no music, but were suffering from 
chillblains on the hands which prevented them from 
playing, a weakness of the throat which put singing 
out of the question, a cold in the head which, in so 


120 


MADAME PRINCE 


far as the eldest Miss Hadford was concerned, barred 
any experiment in the art of elocution. As no guest 
seemed inclined to open the entertainment, Phyllis 
gave one of her songs, and this had scarcely finished 
when the eldest Miss Hadford, rising carefully from 
her kneeling position, announced readiness to offer 
a new piece which she had but recently committed 
to memory. 

“And if I break down in the middle of it,” she said 
pleasantly, “why, it will be my fault, and nobody 
else’s.” She cleared a space at one end of the room. 
The members of the audience selected points at which 
they could fix their gaze. 

The eldest Miss Hadford did not fail in the middle 
of her recitation, or anywhere else: with mental 
abilities that seemed incredible, and ought to have 
been impossible, she went on for three-and-thirty 
minutes by the clock, and during that time no agony, 
endured by a settler’s wife, left with an only child and 
a gun, and expecting an attack by Indians, was 
spared to the audience. The more serious of the dis- 
asters proved to belong to the imagination, for the 
lady’s husband returned, somewhat late, as husbands 
will, with news that the Indians had been shot. 
The relief was too trying for the wife ; to convey this 
scene effectively the eldest Miss Hadford fell, with 
astonishing suddenness on the carpet; one of her 
sisters stepped forward and arranged the skirts of 
the reciter. 

They were all anxious to inquire of the eldest Miss 
Hadford whether the lady of the recitation was sup- 
posed to be dead, or supposed to be fainting ; the hope- 
ful view seemed to be that she had passed away from 
this world, and thus furnished no additional matter 
for poetry. Miss Hadford was reminded by her sisters 
that she had another item in her repertory on similar 
lines, but not quite so lengthy; she herself favoured 


MADAME PRINCE 


121 


the idea of giving Mark Antony’s oration. Phyllis 
had been consulting with the Aldens, and made a 
prompt announcement. Charades. A word of three 
syllables. Each syllable to be mentioned twice in 
each scene; the whole word to be given once in the 
last act. And whilst they were dressing up, would 
Master Dickson be so very kind as to give some of his 
conjuring tricks? Master Dickson — who would have 
undertaken to walk round the world, or dig his way 
to the Antipodes, or essay any task that Phyllis 
suggested (it was in regard to her that he and Richard 
found the one difference of opinion) — Master Dickson 
regretting that Miss Phyllis was not to be amongst 
his spectators, and to be impressed by his skill, at 
once went to the end of the room, and in a voice 
that was sometimes a shrill soprano, and sometimes 
a deep bass, asked if any gentleman would be so kind 
as to lend him a silk hat. At the end, the charade. 

Two matronly ladies, after three knocks had been 
given outside to announce that the performance 
was about to begin, entered by the doorway quarrelling 
as they came; they rapped on an imaginary counter, 
and called out, “Shop!” and were at once recognised 
joyously as Mr. Herbert Alden and Mr. Cyril Alden. 
The summons was answered by a haughty young 
barmaid (Phyllis), who declined to serve the customers 
with anything stronger than gingerade. Swift exchange 
of personal remarks, the matronly ladies calling the 
barmaid a designing young minx, and the barmaid 
suggesting that they should go into the orchard and 
frighten the birds away. Was this a full licensed inn, 
demanded the callers (tripping over each other in 
eagerness to keep the talk going), or was it a miserable 
coffee shop? The barmaid screamed, “George!” 
and the two became apologetic. The barmaid said 
that she never permitted anything like language in 
the establishment, and the customers declared this 


122 


MADAME PRINCE 


rule did her credit; they gave compliments on her 
appearance and deportment. The barmaid spoke of 
herself as a member of that well-known Norman 
family, the Smiths of Kentish Town, and the callers, 
with ejaculations of surprise, proclaimed themselves 
aunts of Miss Smith, and on this pleasing situation 
the curtain was supposed to descend. Great applause. 
Considerable wonderments. Richard and his friend 
Dickson thought the first syllable was bar. The eldest 
Miss Hadford, speaking critically as one with some 
knowledge of the drama, said that the sketch, looked 
on as a sketch, had perhaps too much of the long arm 
of coincidence. 

It seemed to be the wish of the members of the 
company to disguise; themselves as completely as was 
possible, and they appeared to claim the right to 
commandeer any available articles of dress, with the 
result that an entrance was often followed by a cry 
from the audience of 

“Oh, he’s got my muff !” 

Or, “That’s my overcoat she’s wearing !” 

In the second scene Phyllis and her colleagues were 
patrons of the sixpenny gallery at the Marlborough, 
looking on at a stirring melodrama; the dialogue 
consisted of nothing but the word, “Oh!” uttered 
in every key and with every intonation to convey 
alarm, apprehensiveness, amazement, and joy. In the 
third, Phyllis was an attendant at the perfumery 
department of the stores. In the complete word she 
was a shepherdess, and the brothers Alden were 
distinguished noblemen of the day, rivals for her hand, 
and addressing her in speech that had some resem- 
blance to verse : 

“Oh, prithee, maiden, thou who art so fair, 

Whose lovely features are devoid of care, 

Tell me, and fill my lonely heart with bliss, 

How I should start to gain from thee a kiss.” 


MADAME PRINCE 


123 


And the shepherdess answered, with her eyes 
widely open : 

“Alas, kind sir, I do not understand 
I am the simplest maiden in the land. 

My brain, I fear, is not so very deep. 

I care, in truth, for nothing but my sheep.” 

Whereupon, the two noblemen went down on all 
fours, and gambolled about, and said, “Ba — a — a!” 
and the shepherdess, profoundly moved by their 
devotion, stroked their noses, and young Dickson 
was remarking to Richard that a charade ought not 
to go on too long, when the three bowed to indicate 
that the performance was at an end. 

“Innocence !” suggested Madame. 

“No!” said the others. “A fair shot perhaps, 
but not quite a bull’s eye. Let’s all think !” 

It proved that Madame’s choice could not be 
improved upon, and when the performers returned, 
in their original characters, and prepared for wild 
guesses at the word, they had to admit that innocence it 
was, and nothing else. A fresh company was selected, 
and Phyllis’s services urgently appealed for; Phyllis 
preferred to sit next to Master Dickson and discuss 
football. Some delay ensued, and the eldest Miss 
Hadford came back to the room, declaring that if 
people did not care to accept sensible advice, she, for 
one, preferred to stand aside. Phyllis was called out, 
and having offered a choice of words, and furnished 
two or three synopses, resumed conversation with 
Master Dickson. The first syllable was given, but 
there seemed to be an air of indecision; the eldest 
Miss Hadford smiled grimly. At the end, the duty 
was imposed upon Richard to announce that a mis- 
understanding had taken place. Some of the performers 
had one word in their mind; the rest had another. 
Madame cleared the air by recommending Alphabets. 
My horse, said Madame, is an active horse. My horse, 


MADAME PRINCE 


124 


said her neighbour, is an amphibious horse. My horse 
is an admirable horse. My horse is an agitated horse. 
My horse is an alleged horse. My horse is an appealing 
horse. My horse is an attenuated horse. My horse 
is an ailing horse. My horse is an able horse. My horse, 
said Phyllis (when the a’s were becoming exhausted), 
is an adumbral horse. The eldest Miss Hadford, with 
great respect, doubted whether such a word as 
adumbral had any real existence and young Dickson 
promptly offered to bet threepence that Miss Phyllis 
was right, but confessed, in answer to a question, 
that he had not hitherto encountered the adjective. 
Phyllis found the dictionary. Miss Hadford, inspecting 
the page, said the volume was evidently out of 
date. 

There were forfeits to be paid by those who had 
not succeeded, and Phyllis, sentenced to call the name 
of her sweetheart up the chimney, went to the grate 
and said, “Willie Dickson,” with the result that one 
young gentleman of the party declined cake and sand- 
wiches when they were handed around; this to show 
that, for a man of fifteen, love was enough. There 
was claret cup and something stronger for the mature, 
and Madame now insisted that cigarettes should be 
lighted. The eldest Miss Hadford, in this connection, 
came out in the character of one belonging to the 
smartest set, showing a nice discrimination between 
Turkish and Virginian, and declaring that without, 
at least, one smoke a day her nerves would simply 
go to rack and ruin. 

At midnight, all in a circle, and a singing of “Auld 
lang syne,” with strict observance of formalities 
in the crossing of arms, and increased speed of 
movement for the final chorus. Good-byes on the 
landing. Farewells at the street door. Richard and 
Dickson to escort the Hadford girls to their house 
and repel footpads and highwaymen on the route. 


MADAME PRINCE 


125 


The family in at last, and opening windows, setting 
furniture aright, and raking out the fire. 

“You’ve all been good children,” says Madame. 
“Now run off and don’t forget, my dears, to say 
your prayers.” 

Simple joys to look upon, but real and large enough 
to those who took part in them. 

The Village, by reason of its exalted and detached 
position, had a good opinion of itself, that was in no 
way reduced when stray folk came from Lewisham 
and Wulwich and other districts of the south, and 
remarked, after casual inspection, that if they were 
called upon by the fates to live for many years in 
such an out of the way place, they would certainly 
be stone dead in less than three weeks. Before going, 
these visitors remarked, in compassionate tones : 

“Surely it must be most dreadfully dull here in 
the winter !” 

Dull! The Village smiled at the suggestion, and 
took trouble to make comment. Dull, indeed ! 
Of course, the short days came and business establish- 
ments had to light up early, and inhabitants 
told each other that something ought to be done, 
upon their word, to keep down the price of coal, 
and young women in the business establishments of 
High Street wrote to their weekly magazines inquiring 
about a cure for red hands, and schoolboys made 
slides near the kerb end, and, in the dusk — climatic 
conditions being favourable — snowballed the mature; 
The Village claimed no exemption from the other parts 
of town in all these respects. But dull ! 

What about (said The Village when the matter was 
discussed) the Literary and Scientific Institute, estab- 
lished 1839? Why, there on certain evenings during 
the winter you could drop in, meet friends, have a 
chat with them, gaze at the white sheet stretched 


126 


MADAME PRINCE 


above the platform and at eight o’clock to the minute, 
or perhaps a quarter of an hour later, the chairman 
and the lecturer came on. The chairman said he 
knew they had not come there to listen to him, but 
to hear the lecturer, and he had no intention whatsoever 
of taking up their time ; but he did feel that he ought 
to say a few words on the subject of the lecture, 
and thereupon (to the acute discomfort of the lecturer) 
sketched out his own view of the lecture as it ought 
to be. Lights down, and for a full hour you looked 
at pictures on the screen of (say) cathedrals of Great 
Britain, and paid attention to an address in which 
the seriousness of the topic was ingeniously relieved 
by most diverting conversations that the lecturer 
encountered whilst making his researches. As, for 
instance, inquiring of an elderly railway porter at 
Canterbury whether he knew anything of Thomas a 
Becket, and the elderly official pleading that he had 
only just been transferred to the station from Ashford. 
(Madame could remember the time when lantern 
views finished with humorous pictures of men asleep 
and swallowing mice, and chameleon tricks with 
changing and involved colours : this pandering to 
the vulgar taste had, it seemed, gone out.) And, 
sometimes, a vote of thanks to the lecturer, moved 
by Colonel Dawes, who referred to the need of home 
defence, seconded by the Rev. Mr. Wagstaff, who 
said it was drink that, in the main, filled our 
prisons. 

Concerts too. Concerts announced by bills with 
often a name, “From the Queen’s Hall,” and occa- 
sionally the name of Miss Phyllis Prince, in which case 
a bill was exhibited in the dentist’s window on the 
ground floor, and Georgina practised accompani- 
ments strenuously and mentioned the wish that she 
could control her nerves on the concert platform 
as she could direct them at home. Phyllis sometimes 


MADAME PRINCE 


127 


gave her services to musical entertainments organised 
by ladies who never allowed themselves to be seen 
in print without the affix of L.R.A.M., and here, 
when young students had played the pianoforte, 
or had sung duets to the extreme agitation of parents 
and guardians seated in the hall, then Miss Phyllis 
Prince came on, and the audience sat back with the 
knowledge that no fear of a breakdown need terrify, 
no danger of the performer bursting into tears was 
to be anticipated. A more decorous form of enter- 
tainment for The Village in the winter months was 
represented by drawing-room meetings; for these the 
family rarely received invitations, and when invita- 
tions came they were not accepted. For one thing, 
drawing-room meetings took place in the afternoon; 
for another, the card generally said, in an ominous 
manner, “COLLECTION.” At times no need existed 
for whipping up an audience. A bishop was a certain 
magnet, and folk would go to a house at the far end 
of Hampstead Lane to hear him. A countess ensured 
a full house. Politicians were risky, unless they 
belonged to the front benches; in the case of literary 
men, organisers had to go around beforehand, making 
urgent appeals. “Do make a special effort to come 
along,” they begged earnestly. “We’ve arranged for 
tea to be provided.” Very generous, The Village, 
with its money, to all the thousand and one objects 
submitted to its consideration. Phyllis once had an 
idea of arranging a concert for the benefit of the 
Society of Curds and Whey, and felt sure it would 
bring in a satisfactory amount: the sportive notion 
was not followed up. 

As the cold weather disappeared, and the sun 
became something more than a lozenge-like decoration 
in the sky, then visitors could he taken through 
Bisham Gardens to the cemetery where, with luck, one 
might happen across the tombstone of Tom Sayers, 


128 


MADAME PRINCE 


the boxing man, or George Eliot, or Parepa Rosa, and 
read the inscription set up to Lillywhite, the cricketer, 
“This monument testifies to the respect of the Noble- 
men and Gentlemen of the Marylebone Cricket Club, 
and of many Private Friends, to one who did his duty 
in that State of Life to which it had pleased God to 
call him.” Americans were at times to be found 
making investigations in the cemetery, very grateful 
for any information likely to shorten their task, 
and to be directed later to Coleridge’s house in The 
Grove, and to the tablet, set by one Mr. Gillman, 
containing lines regarding which Richard, at quite 
an early age, declared they were not what he called 
good poetry. Madame, at his request, perused them — 

“Reader, for the world mourn, 

A light has passed away from the earth. 

But for this pious and exalted Christian 
Rejoice, and again I say unto you, rejoice 1” 

Madame admitted the lines seemed to be wanting 
in something. 

It was, as spring set in, that The Village came to 
its own. Then gentlemen of middle-age up from the 
City, where they had been juggling with figures from 
nine till half-past five, took off black coats so soon as 
they entered the house, and said to wives, with 
a deep sigh of relief, “My dear, if any one wants 
me, my address is the lawn, for an hour or two. Lord, 
but it’s pleasant to be where there’s a touch of cool 
about!” Then, young men, arriving similarly from 
business, rushed upstairs, and, in the manner of 
quick-change artists at the variety theatres, reappeared 
in flannels, making highly effective serves in the air 
with tennis rackets, or tremendous drives for an 
imaginary four with a cricket bat. These were some- 
times joined by the Prince girls, apparelled in white, 
but the young ladies did not always give their com- 


MADAME PRINCE 


129 


pany, for certain of the male youth were far above 
them in degree; a few just a little below. Madame’ s 
instructions were that they should mix, for preference, 
with their equals. 

An interlude, and for Madame a definite suspension 
of the exact manner of speech, came each Friday, 
when Bessie Purdey checked her pony at the entrance 
in High Street. The girls could remember the time 
when they had been frightened by Bessie, when the 
brown apple-faced old lady had come into their 
dreams, disturbing sleep, and creating an acute agony 
of mind. Richard always denied that these terrors 
had ever afflicted him, but the statement was received 
with incredulity; he did agree that in early days 
he shared the impression that Bessie, in point of age, 
competed with the characters in the Old Testament 
who lived unusually long, and even now Bessie’s 
years could only be guessed. She brought in a small 
hooded van, with her name in black letters on a gilt 
ground, poultry, and butter, and eggs, and, when 
the seasons permitted, a few rabbits and a hare. 
Phyllis, to justify an education above that which her 
sisters enjoyed, had once, as a child, undertaken 
the mathematical task of counting the freckles on 
Bessie’s features, but Bessie, detecting this, threatened 
to change Phyllis into a bumble-bee, and the project 
was dropped. The interesting point concerning her 
weekly visits was that Madame, for a space, ceased 
to be a high-class milliner, and became a country 
woman with a keen appetite for a bargain. 

“Mornin’, Bessie Purdey.” 

“Mornin’ to you, my dear. How be you finding 
yourself by this time, I wonder?” 

“Musn’t grumble, Bessie. You be lookin’ well and 
’earty like.” 

“Nobody but me,” claimed Bessie Purdey, “knows 


130 


MADAME PRINCE 


what rheumatis can do. It’s the truth what I’m 
telling.” 

“Strikes me you and truth ’ent been on speaking 
terms for some consid’able time past.” Bessie, receiv- 
ing this as though it were a flatteringly worded compli- 
ment, said that it didn’t do to go about with your 
eyes shut, and suggested, with pride, that anyone 
who got on the blind side of Bessie Purdey, had only 
to complete the record by cheating Old Nick. On 
this, Madame inquired what sort of muck the hooded 
cart contained this time. Bessie said of the poultry 
that King Edward would reckon himself uncommon 
lucky to have a chance of bidding for it. In regard 
to the eggs, if they had a fault it was that they were 
too fresh for London tastes. The butter could be 
described as butter, and that was more than most 
butter could say of itself. As to the mushrooms, a 
country-bred person like Madame had only to glance 
at them. Picked fresh that very morning. Before any- 
one else was up. 

“Even the party what owns the meadow.” 

“That’s right,” agreed old Bessie. “You’ll never 
say a truer word than that, my dear, not if you live 
till you die. How’s all the young ladies getting on 
that I’ve knowed since they was in the cradle?” 
Information given. In a lower voice Bessie Purdey 
put another inquiry; one that concerned the boy. 
Madame in an equally confidential manner answered. 
“Somehow, they always do well,” remarked old 
Bessie. “Always stronger like than or’nary children, 
they are. You recollect other cases, down where you 
used to be, don’t you, my dear? Somehow the fact 
that their mothers and fathers didn’t go to church 
afore the child arrived, seemed to make the youngster 
specially happy and strong. Why it sh’d be, I don’t 
know, and therefore, my dear, I can’t explain it to 
you.” Bessie, in a lower voice, spoke of her own son. 


MADAME PRINCE 


131 


Now on His Majesty’s ship Ambidextrous. Doing well. 
“The vicar,” said Bessie reminiscently, “he give me 
a rare old talking to at the time, I remember, but — 
I dunno ! I’ve never had no cause to regret it.” 

Madame, as a neighbour went by, arrested the 
conversation, and entered upon the job of bargaining. 
Apart from the enjoyment gained from this, there 
was the further advantage that the Prince family, 
though living economically, lived well. 

The Village plumed itself on its health statistics, 
but even there to have brought up four children, and 
to have brought them up so well was reckoned an 
achievement. As a consequence, Madame found 
herself looked upon as an authority, and mothers in 
High Street and its tributaries, would, at periods of 
anxiety, leave their establishments and hasten to 
her, arriving at the top of the staircase with, “Oh, 
Madame, I just want to ask you. What did you give 
your little boy when he was teething?” Or, “Is 
it only a slight rash, do you think, or does it mean 
measles?” Or, “I’ll bring her along, the little sweet, 
and get her to cough, and see what you make of it.” 
In this way, Madame became friendly with most of 
the children in High Street. In this way, business 
was often, out of sheer thankfulness, introduced. 
In this way, Madame found herself honoured and 
looked upon with respect by grateful fathers, who, 
treating other customers at their shops with the 
light-hearted chaff that convention demanded, com- 
ported themselves towards Madame with a particular 
courtesy. In private conference with each other, at, 
say, the Bull Inn, they paid her the highest compli- 
ment that they had in stock. “Almost as sensible,” 
they said, “and nearly as clear-headed as any 
man !” 

Bessie Purdey came one Friday morning with news 
at once good and bad. Her son’s time in the Navy 


132 


MADAME PRINCE 


was up; he was going into the coastguard, and 
required the presence of his mother on the east coast 
to look after the cottage, one of a long row, that had 
been assigned to him. There was to be no more 
calling at The Village once a week, no more conversa- 
tion in remote accents, no more bargaining. The two 
were distressed at the break of friendship. The pony 
took his last apple from Madame, and seemed inclined 
to burst into tears. 

“They can say what they like about you, my dear/’ 
said old Bessie, with resolution, “and I dessay you've 
got your faults like the rest of us, but I’ve never found 
you as anything but a good soul. And as to that little 
affair, what me and you know about, and not many 
besides, why you can rely on me, you can, as being 
as silent as the grave." Madame, nodding thanks, 
did not trust herself to speak. “Silenter, if it comes 
to that," added Bessie. 


CHAPTER SIX 


M ARSH, best man on the wedding-day, failed 
to justify this title during a subsequent 
period. Madame, at Phyllis’s request, prom- 
ised to see him on some convenient occasion and 
deliver the form of lecture known as a good talking 
to. It was not only that long and extravagantly 
worded communications arrived from him by the first 
post in the morning, and by the last post at night. 
It was not only that he, of an evening, walked up 
and down on the opposite side of High Street. It 
was not only that, discovering the church favoured 
by Phyllis, he attended there twice on Sundays, 
giving the young woman as a consequence the trouble 
of walking down the hill and becoming, temporarily, 
a Unitarian. All these things, done after he had been 
told, with great distinctness, that his attentions 
were not wanted, would have mattered little if he 
had abstained from taking up the role of private 
detective, with a view of discovering whether the 
girl’s affections were given elsewhere. And this could 
have been endured, if the mistaken young man had 
not overstepped the bounds by writing to certain 
of Madame’s customers, begging to be furnished 
with any information on the subject that they happened 
to possess. Madame’s instincts as a protecting mother 
had already been hroused; now her sense of commerce 
was shocked. In a brief note dear Mr. Marsh was 
invited to call on a Sunday afternoon at four 
o’clock. 


133 


134* 


MADAME PRINCE 


“Your son is well, I trust,” inquired Marsh, in 
ascending the staircase. 

“Richard is very well. Now that he is engaged 
in the City through the week, I get him to take advan- 
tage of the fresh air on Sundays.” 

“There’s nothing like it,” he declared. “I believe 
I should feel better in health if I didn’t mope about 
at home so much. My people don’t know what to 
make of me.” On the landing, he seemed to make 
an effort to pull himself together; he smoothed his 
hair nervously with the palm of his hand, and entered 
the sitting-room with what was intended to be an 
easy, well-assured smile. “Miss Georgina away?” 
he asked, looking around. 

“Concert at Queen’s Hall.” 

“And Miss — Miss — The other one?” 

“I have sent her there too. I arranged this, Mr. 
Marsh, for a special reason. You must understand 
that you are to cease annoying her.” 

He went to the mantelpiece and rested his head, 
a picture of acute depression. “Did think my luck 
was going to turn at last,” he said. “That’s the worst 
of setting your expectations too high; gives them 
such a long distance to fall. And this is what people 
write about as being the greatest time in a man’s 
life. A pity someone doesn’t tell the truth about it. 
As a matter of fact, I’ve never felt half so miserable 
as I’ve been, Madame, since I fell in love, months 
ago, with your youngest daughter.” 

“You must not forget that my youngest daughter 
is by no means in love with you.” 

“I quite realise that,” argued Marsh. “But, in 
books, you very often find that a young lady’s in- 
difference turns eventually to real affection, providing 
that the chap doesn’t lose heart. In one sense of the 
phrase, I mean. And nothing in this world can stop 
me from going on admiring her.” 


MADAME PRINCE 


135 


He was genuinely surprised to hear a view of the 
question, set forward very plainly. Madame mentioned 
that she had now but two daughters to look after; 
the task was one requiring more care, perhaps, 
than at any antecedent period. Anyway, she intended 
to perform it to the best of her ability, and Marsh 
was to understand that he had, from the present 
time, to give up the methods adopted ; to cease 
writing letters to Phyllis — 

“It can’t do her any harm to read them,” he pleaded. 

“She doesn’t read them. She hands them over 
to me.” 

“Good gracious,” cried Marsh, shocked, “is she 
so callous as all that?” 

— He was to consider High Street out of bounds 
so far as he was concerned ; if he dared to send again 
to people making inquiries concerning Phyllis and 
her deportment towards other young men, then 
Madame would feel bound to take more resolute 
action. Marsh urged that in this regard, his anxiety 
was to lessen mental distress by obtaining an assurance 
that no one else was likely to secure the prize denied 
to him, and found himself told, promptly, that this 
he had no right whatever to expect. Whereupon, 
the young man wept and Madame suggested he should 
take the easy chair whilst she prepared tea ; he 
declared that tea, at the moment, would simply 
choke him. Madame, to arrest his sobs, made the 
statement that Phyllis had no partiality for any other 
youth residing in Highgate or elsewhere. 

“I willingly take your word for it,” he said, “so 
far as your knowledge is concerned, but experience 
tells me that daughters don’t tell everything to their 
parents. I’m following up now a slight clue that 
I’ve obtained. If I find there’s nothing in it, I shall 
do my best, Madame, to put my mind at rest, and 
dismiss her altogether from my thoughts.” 


136 


MADAME PRINCE 


‘That’s right,” agreed Madame, heartily. “Take 
up a hobby of some sort. Give your brain something 
else to think about.” 

“I tried fretwork,” he mentioned, “but it only 
seemed to make me brood more than ever. That was 
Hilborough’s suggestion, and he might just as well 
have saved himself the trouble.” 

Marsh was surprised to find Madame had not yet 
seen the newly furnished house in Tufnell Park; 
was, indeed, waiting for an invitation from either 
her daughter, or her daughter’s husband. The young 
man explained all that he would do, were he 
Madame, in circumstances of the kind, and after 
describing this at some length, took his departure, 
showing the vivacity and earnestness that come 
to most when they pilot ships belonging to other 
folk. 

“Give Miss Phyllis my regards, Madame,” he 
begged, “and say that I’ve been slightly off my nut; 
otherwise I should never have behaved as I did. 
Say I’m sorry if I’ve given trouble. I’ve had a pretty 
rough time of it, but I think — or rather I trust — it’s 
nearly over now. Of course, it may come back 
again.” 

“Hope I haven’t been too hard on you ?” 

“Say she’s very fortunate in having a mother who 
can argue a subject clearly, and without giving offence. 
I’ll drop you a note later on, Madame, if I find it 
necessary.” 

A note did arrive in the course of a few weeks, say* 
ing that Marsh had an item of news to communicate, 
if Madame cared to hear it. Madame, engaged with 
a case that threatened to go so far as the County Court, 
tore up the letter and dropped the pieces in the waste- 
paper basket. 

The legal affair, if traced to its source, might be 
described as the work of Miss Lilley. The senior 


MADAME PRINCE 


137 


apprentice had, at the departure of Ethel, been taken 
on as improver; she now received as wages the sum 
of three and sixpence a week, with prospects of 
increases, to the envy of Miss Bushell, who was com- 
forted by Madame’ s assurance that her turn would 
come next. Miss Lilley, having earned her step in 
the service, at once began to show great industry, 
bringing one or two new customers who purchased 
hats and paid on delivery, and a lady from Crouch 
End, greatly interested in social work there, and by 
no means satisfied with her present dressmaker. 
Miss Lilley had met her in connection with a church 
bazaar, and spoke of the lady, in advance, as one of 
singular charm of manner, and great benevolence. 
It seemed to Madame when the fresh customer called 
that her assistant had been impressed as much by 
the lady’s bulk as by her other qualities; Miss Lilley 
exhibited all the adoration that four foot eleven gener- 
ally gives to five foot ten. The lady candidly admitted 
that hers was not an easy figure; she added that 
since the age of twenty-five she had been searching 
for a dressmaker clever enough, and sufficiently 
attentive to gown her in a suitable way. Madame, 
thus put upon her mettle, bought materials in Oxford 
Street, and, interested in the task of overcoming 
difficulties, omitted until the last trying-on, to speak 
of the question of payment. The other said, austerely, 
that a cheque would be given. Miss Lilley took the 
duty of transporting the cardboard case, and the 
following morning brought to High Street the message 
that the lady found she had but just used the last 
slip in her book; within two days (or less, if the bank 
people were active) a new set would be received, 
and then a cheque could be at once issued. “I don’t 
think she’s a bilker,” said Miss Lilley, “but, of course, 
she may be!” There followed one of the duels that 
business firms are occasionally called upon to fight, 


138 


MADAME PRINCE 


with all the formal and punctilious rules which con- 
vention demands. 

Madame Prince presents her compliments, and begs 
to point out that Mrs. Lyster has not yet sent the 
remittance due. A cheque by an early post is respect- 
fully requested. 

Mrs. Lyster regrets that, as she is about to leave 
town for a month’s holiday in Switzerland, she must 
ask Madame Prince to be so good as to wait for the 
settlement of the account until her return. 

Madame Prince, hoping that Mrs. Lyster has by 
this time returned from the Continent, ventures to 
call attention to the bill already sent in, and to ask 
for early payment. 

Mrs. Lyster has pleasure in enclosing cheque, and 
requests an immediate acknowledgment. 

Madame Prince, in returning cheque to hand this 
morning, begs to call attention to the fact that, by 
an oversight, it is post-dated to the extent of one 
year. Will Mrs. Lyster be so very kind as to make 
the necessary alteration, and initial it, and send the 
cheque back by next post ? 

Madame Prince begs to call attention to her previ- 
ous letter, to which she has not been favoured with a 
reply. 

Mrs. Lyster fails to understand the meaning of the 
communication recently to hand. A cheque was 
issued in payment of the account, and there, so far 
as she is concerned, the matter ends. She must beg 
that no further letters be sent her on the subject. 

(A call made by Madame at the house in Crouch 
End. Servant says her mistress is not well enough 
to see visitors. Inquiries, made at local shops, received 
with grim smiles, and the information that the lady 
is one of the worst settlers-up in the district. Can 
pay, but won’t pay.) 

Madame Prince tenders compliments, and begs to 


MADAME PRINCE 


139 


say that unless a remittance is sent before the end 
of the present week, she will be compelled to place 
the matter in the hands of her solicitors. 

Mrs. Lyster has received Madame Prince’s grossly 
impertinent letter. Madame Prince is at liberty to 
take any action she thinks fit. 

Madame Prince, with lines on her forehead that 
are not usually there, consults her daughters, consults 
penitent Miss Lilley, talks it over with Miss Bushell, 
discusses the matter with Mr. Warland, the dentist 
on the ground floor, and eventually mentions it to 
Richard on his return one evening from the City. 
Richard, very manful in these days, and reticent 
when interrogated by his sisters and his mother 
concerning insurance work 

“We’re not supposed to talk about these matters 
outside the office. Besides, if I told you, you wouldn’t 
understand !” 

— Richard complains that the affair has not been 
earlier entrusted into his hands, and obtaining all 
particulars, goes instantly down the hill to catch an 
omnibus. Returns at half-past nine, and to Madame’s 
astonishment, places the amount in gold and silver 
upon her writing desk. 

“Oh, it wasn’t difficult,” he says calmly. “I had 
intended to bully the woman, but the door was 
opened by a rather pretty niece. I got on good terms 
with her very quickly, and she saw her aunt and she 
got the money, and she walked back with me to where 
the ’buses start. I’m supposed to meet the girl to- 
morrow evening at the same place, but of course, 
I shan’t be there.” 

“What a piece of work is man,” quotes Phyllis. 
“How noble in reason, how infinite in faculties.” 

“You can say what you like,” argues the lad, 
“but you’ve got to admit that I succeeded where the 
rest of you failed!” 


140 


MADAME PRINCE 


“In action, how like an angel!” Phyllis goes on. 
“In apprehension, how like a god.” 

“Gracious!” says Madame, recovering from the 
shock. “The boy is growing up! Whatever next?” 


A Berlin wool shop on the other side of the road 
showed signs of lassitude and presently gave no indica- 
tion of life; the bill was on the shutters for less than a 
week, and it was Georgina — slow in speech, but very 
watchful — who called her mother’s attention to the 
work being carried on by a fascia writer, set on a 
ladder. No ordinary shop inscription this, but an 
imitation of bold penmanship, the word “Nanette,” 
and underneath, in more ordinary form, “From Regent 
Street.” The next morning two young women 
were busy in the shop window, setting smart and 
exceptional hats upon upright pegs. Madame said, 
nodding good temperedly, 

“It’s come along at last, then !” 

Other folk seemed more openly alarmed. Miss 
Warland, up from the ground floor, spoke of new 
brooms, of cutting of throats, of competition that 
existed for the sake of competition, of the Bank- 
ruptcy Court; she retired after giving this address, 
evidently under the belief that helpful, sympathetic 
and encouraging words had been spoken. Georgina, 
at the . windows occasionally to inspect, reported 
that ladies of the district were outside the establish- 
ment, noting the articles exhibited there, and the 
prices, and, afterwards, holding conversation apart. 
A car drove up with one of Madame’s principal cus- 
tomers, who, stepping out, was about to make the 
ascent when she caught sight of the shop opposite, 
and thereupon crossed the roadway and presently 
entered ; it was not clear, even to the youngest 
eyesight, whether the lady made purchases ; the 


MADAME PRINCE 


141 


obvious and distressing fact was that she did not 
pay a visit to Madame Prince’s rooms. Miss Bushell, 
apprentice, speaking to Miss Lilley, improver, as 
one able to see further through a brick wall than 
most, remarked that here, in her opinion, was the 
beginning of the end. Miss Lilley expressed her 
astonishment that Miss Bushell was not struck to 
the carpet by some unseen power for saying such a 
wicked, awful thing. 

“Facts are facts,” declared Miss Lilley, stubbornly. 

“And fools are fools,” retorted the other. 

“In future,” begged Miss Lilley, coldly, “be good 
enough to address your conversation to your equals, 
or to your inferiors, miss. Not to me!” 

Apart from the making of history on the other 
side of High Street — Madame admitted to Phyllis 
that the incident had often come to her in dreams, 
but she had never believed it would be converted 
into reality — the day proved to be one filled with what 
Madame called circus clown performances. Reviewing 
at eight o’clock in the evening, she asserted quite cheer- 
fully that it was difficult to find anything fortunate 
or well ordered. Ill luck dogged not only her footsteps 
but every movement of the hands; needles entered 
her fingers as though under the influence of a magnet ; 
a sewing machine which she happened to touch fell 
over, thus achieving an act that might well have 
been considered impossible. A hat stand did better 
than this by tumbling down for no reason at all, 
unless dementia could be urged as an excuse; its 
knob was damaged, and the hat it wore in no way 
improved. At ten minutes past twelve the largest 
window was smashed, an occurrence accounted for 
by the arrival of a grimy tennis ball, for which no 
claimant appeared. Miss Bushell, going out to lunch, 
slipped on a brass edge of the staircase, and had to 
be brought back, and her ankle attended to ; she 


MADAME PRINCE 


142 


declared, between sobs of anguish, that it was all 
the fault of Miss Lilley, who, she said, had out of 
sheer malice, undoubtedly willed the accident and 
compelled it to happen. 

“Wish I’d never seen her,” wailed the apprentice. 
“Wish Pd never seen anybody. Wish I was dead and 
buried, and in my grave, and the daisies growing 
over me.” 

“Don’t talk nonsense,” ordered Madame. “You’re 
a young girl, with all your life in front of you.” 

“That’s just what makes it so dreadful to bear,” 
said the other. “I’m sure I shall go dot and carry one 
for the rest of my days.” 

“You always did walk a bit awkwardly, dear,” 
remarked Miss Lilley. “See how you wear one heel 
of your shoes more than the other.” 

“You’re bandaging the wrong ankle, Madame,” 
complained Miss Bushell. 

Later, a piece of live coal jumped from the grate 
in the workroom, setting some material alight ; 
Georgina, frightened out of her usual senses, rushed 
downstairs into the street and screamed the word 
“Fire!” several times; returning, she found that 
her mother, with the aid of a hearthrug had already 
extinguished the flames. Mr. Warland, and a gentle- 
man who had just but taken a seat in the operating 
chair, came up with pails of water and were, with 
difficulty, restrained from deluging the carpet. A call 
was paid by a new lady inspector, suspicious and 
dogmatic. At tea-time, two cups were broken, and a 
sugar basin — formerly the property of Madame’s 
mother, and made of glass so thick that one would 
have said the most powerful machinery at Woolwich 
Arsenal was required to damage it — this, on being 
crowded by the teapot, sustained a chip that robbed 
it for ever of any claim to perfection. A letter came 
from Aunt Emma. 


MADAME PRINCE 


143 


“Your Uncle Jim’s temper has broken out again,” 
announced Madame. “And this time rather badly. 
Your Aunt hints that she may have to leave him 
and come and live with us. It seems he threw 
a Bible at her yesterday.” 

“Under the impression,” suggested Phyllis, “that 
it was a missal. If she comes here, mother, it means 
more expense for you.” 

“I know,” agreed Madame. “And I’m very anxious 
to help her, but ” She did not finish the sentence. 

By the last post of the disastrous day came a polite 
note from the Holloway branch of a bank. Madame 
Prince’s account was slightly overdrawn ; the manager 
would be glad if this could be set in order at the 
earliest convenient opportunity. This note she did 
not read to the girls. On the heels of the last post, 
Richard arrived, with a casual apology for being late, 
and following this with no explanation. He 
appeared serious in manner, and when the others gave 
him some of the incidents of the day, he offered no 
signs of diversion or great show of interest, but 
pointed out that many of them could, with care, 
have been avoided. Madame remarked, with a glance 
at the clock, that there was little time now for further 
accidents to occur. “Bed,” she mentioned, and the 
two girls kissed her and went off. 

“Did they pay you, Richard, this evening?” 

“I want,” said the lad, rather nervously, “to have 
a quiet talk with you about that, mother. I find the 
arrangement I originally made doesn’t leave me with 
quite enough to go on with.” 

“We must alter the arrangement then,” she said 
brightly. “I don’t wish you to give me more than 
you can afford to do.” 

“The matter has to be looked at fairly and squarely,” 
he remarked, beginning to walk up and down the 
sitting-room. “My view was, when I wrote out the 


144 


MADAME PRINCE 


figures, that I ought to try to repay you for some 
of the expense you had on my account in the past” 

“We can forget that part of it, my boy. All we have 
to think about is the present. And, of course, a little 
concerning the future.” 

“I find,” he went on, “that many of the fellows 
at our office who live at home, are not expected by 
their people to fork out a single sou for board and 
lodging. The money they get once a month is all 
theirs, to spend just as they please.” 

“And they are generally in debt.” 

“How did you guess that, mother ?” 

“Go on, my boy. Say what you want to say.” 

“So I thought that if you didn’t mind,” here he 
took gold coins from his waistcoat pocket, “I’d 
like to reduce the amount I’ve hithero paid. I feel 
that I ought to get about and see the world, and take 
notice of everything, and fit myself for the kind of 
work I want to do later on, and this can’t be done 
without spending money rather freely.” 

“Freely,” agreed Madame; “but not, I hope, 
foolishly.” 

“Surely mother, you have known me long enough — ” 

“You must let me give you advice,” she interrupted, 
“if I think you need it. You are not old enough yet, 
Richard, to be able to decide for yourself. You are 
my only boy, remember.” 

He offered to lock up for the night, but Madame 
said she wanted to go through accounts. He was 
sent off to his room. 

“If people,” Madame said to herself, later, at the 
writing desk, “if people would but settle up !” 

One of the results of competition over the way 
was shown when a rubber stamp had to be purchased 
which conveyed the information on bill heads and 
letter paper, that the telephone number was 2124 
Hornsey. Phyllis had recently urged that the means 


MADAME PRINCE 


145 


of communication should be installed; customers had 
expressed their surprise at its absence, and Madame 
offered a choice of objections; expense, interruption 
to ordinary work, risk of misunderstanding. To her 
girls, and to the staff, she confessed amusedly that 
she was frightened by the instrument, and rather 
than approach one, either to give or to take a message, 
she would willingly continue to write letters, or take 
journeys. News had come that the ladies opposite 
used the telephone, proclaimed too a telegraphic 
address, and used notepaper of a quality that would 
not have been out of place in Dover Street, West. 
Madame gave in so far as one detail was concerned, 
on the understanding that Phyllis made herself 
responsible for managing the instrument, and that 
nobody else in the establishment was allowed to 
share the duty. It did have a notable effect in that 
many patronesses, catching sight of the telephone, 
congratulated Madame on accepting their counsel; 
they made use of it to send messages home to cook, 
or to ring up numbers in the City; Georgina found 
that her knowledge of the way in which husbands 
or sweethearts were addressed became considerably 
extended, and the ladies enjoyed the satisfaction of 
knowing they were saving twopence. 

“So handy,” they said, approvingly. “Really, one 
can’t imagine how people managed before it was 
started.” 

Madame’s view that the invention had not reached 
the perfect stage received support one evening when 
she happened to be alone in the workroom where the 
telephone was fixed. The bell began to ring. Phyllis 
was in her room preparing to go (with a girl friend, 
it was announced) to see Mr. Beerbohm Tree in a 
new play. Georgina had taken a parcel to the post 
office; Miss Lilley and Miss Bushell had gone. Madame 
called, but Phyllis did not hear. An important mourn- 


146 


MADAME PRINCE 


ing order was expected, and Madame, summoning 
courage, took off the receiver. “Is that you, my 
darling girl? asked a deep voice. “No,” answered 
Madame decisively. “Who is it you want?” The 
voice became apologetic, and rather indistinct. 
“Speak up, please,” she ordered. At the moment 
Phyllis came into the workroom hurriedly, and without 
her blouse. “Let me have it, mother,” she said. 
Madame, glancing at her daughter, whispered that 
it was a man who was speaking; Phyllis appeared 
to consider the incomplete state of her attire no bar, 
in the circumstances, to conversation with a member 
of the other sex. She took the receiver and listened 
attentively. “Ring off,” she commanded. “Wrong 
number !” Phyllis explained to her mother that 
someone at the other end required 4124. Madame 
said that Phyllis had a rather high colour, and recom- 
mended her to put on a veil before going out. 

“You’re growing quite good looking, my dear,” 
she added, stroking the girl’s arm. 

“I have many defects of character,” said Phyllis, 
“but I trust I am not altogether without my redeeming 
features.” 

A customer, in being fitted the following morning, 
inquired of Phyllis an opinion in regard to the play 
at His Majesty’s; she had happened to be sitting 
in a row just behind Miss Prince. Phyllis, before 
replying, was so unfortunate as to use a pin clumsily, 
to the lady’s great distress, and putting an end to 
friendly discussion upon the drama. Instead, the 
other remarked with some asperity that everybody 
seemed to be speaking well of the new people over 
the way. 

The galling part of the opposition came in the 
circumstance that one or two on Madame’s books, 
known as bad payers, were the first to transfer their 
patronage, leaving accounts with the elder firm still 


MADAME PRINCE 


147 


unsettled. Madame went across one evening, with 
the intention of giving the two young women a friendly 
warning, and perhaps some desire to look around; 
they received her with so much haughtiness that she 
decided to do nothing more than inquire whether 
they happened to possess a copy of the Queen for 
the previous week. They said they were glad to make 
Madame’s acquaintance; the tone of voice was that 
generally adopted in expressing deep regret. They 
reckoned Madame singularly unfortunate in not being 
on the ground floor. Considering the short time they 
had been in the neighbourhood, the two thought it 
simply wonderful they had got on so well; the 
younger woman offered the view that Highgate Village 
folk had been in need of them for years past, and were 
now but showing a correct appreciation. They sug- 
gested that when Madame married off her two remain- 
ing girls, she would retire from business ; and Madame 
said, without hesitation : 

“Bless my heart, no! Whatever’s put that silly 
idea into your heads ?” 

They declined to answer this question, and requested 
Madame not to cut out any fashion drawings from 
the journal before returning it. As she left, she heard 
one say to the other, “Quite a type, don’t you think ?” 
and the other remarked vaguely, “What can you 
expect?” Miss Bushell, taking the Queen back on 
the next day, with Madame’s compliments and thanks, 
returned with information that the new people had 
engaged a chubby faced boy as page; he was dressed 
in a neat brown uniform with peaked cap, and he 
had called Miss Bushell by the incorrect name of 
Maudie. He proved to be an extremely active youth, 
always bustling about, and now and again conveying 
the pangs of envy to Madame (who had sometimes 
promised herself, if business improved, to engage a 
lad) by sallying forth with large cardboard boxes 


148 


MADAME PRINCE 


that bore the title of the firm in a proud and legible 
manner. Some of her distress vanished when one day 
the string became undone as he bounded across the 
road with every show of setting out on an important 
task of delivery, and the lid becoming loose, it could 
be seen that the box was empty. 

“They’ve got ideas, anyway!” admitted Madame. 

The two young women did, indeed, show extra- 
ordinary alertness and invention. In the window 
would be placed, for instance, a couple of water colours 
set upon easels: The Village had only the time to 
inspect these, and try to discover what they had to 
do with modern fashions, when they disappeared 
and the places taken by royal portraits that suggested 
the establishment was under distinguished patronage. 
They engaged a tall girl as maid, and dressed her as 
though she were in comic opera, and likely at any 
moment to burst into song; other servants in High 
Street were affected by a troublesome cough when 
they caught sight of her, and young men at shops 
to which she was occasionally sent had much trouble 
with the string of parcels, thus extending oppor- 
tunities for conversation. To Madame, the rumour 
came that afternoon customers over the way were 
provided with tea, and thin bread and butter, tendered 
respectfully by the tall maid. Madame thought of 
the small cost of this and reproached herself for not 
possessing an agile brain. Infrequently, when a 
patroness had said, in a marked way, 

“I’m simply dying for a cup !” 

— Then Madame had made a hesitating offer of the 
refreshment, which was accepted with the remark 
that it was such a shame to give trouble, but there 
was nothing so refreshing, and that doctors’ talk 
about the effect of tea upon nerves was just one of 
those silly notions the medical profession took up 
for a while, and then dropped. But it had never 


MADAME PRINCE 


149 


before occurred to Madame that tea might be served 
in the absence of broad hints, and now it seemed 
undignified to follow the example set over the way. 
To Phyllis, she confided hopes which rested upon the 
fact that the members of the opposition firm were 
smartly attired, and rather engaging in appearance; 
Phyllis answered that, of course, there was just the 
chance, but one had to realise that the giving and 
taking in marriage was a hobby which seemed to 
be decreasing in public favour. Romance nowadays 
could be found only between the covers of books. 

“You seem to forget your Mr. Marsh.” 

“Yes,” admitted Phyllis. “The infatuated youth 
has, I am glad to say, completely gone from my 
memory.” 

“And there was somebody else who paid you atten- 
tion. Sir Ernest what was his other name?” 

“I ought to remember,” said the girl. “For about 
a day and a half he was scarcely out of my 
thoughts.” 

“I warned you at the time,” said her mother, 
“that it was a mere passing fancy on his side. Titled 
people are not for the likes of us.” 

“There are, I find, one or two dukes still single. I 
have my eye on them, but nothing of a definite nature 
has happened yet. Shy birds, dukes.” 

“One day,” said Madame, encouragingly ; “one 
day, my dear, you’ll meet somebody of your own 
station in life, and he’ll make you happy. Just before 
I met your father down in the country, I’d begun 
to give up all hopes.” 

“I have not yet arrived at that state of complete 
despair. Only yesterday, the young butcher up the 
street winked at me. At least, I hope he winked at 
me. It was a dusty morning, and I may have been 
foolishly mistaken.” 

“Chard was the name,” said Madame. “Sir Ernest 


150 


MADAME PRINCE 


Chard? Wonder whether there is a Lady Chard by 
this time ?” 

“If there is,” said Phyllis, dramatically, “may the 
curses of a poor maiden, engaged in the millinery 
and dressmaking line, descend upon her craven head. 
Who had the button-hook last?” 

Madame, when the invitation arrived, could not 
recall how often it had happened in her experience 
that to speak of a person was to meet or hear from the 
person within a brief period. Chard wrote saying that 
the enclosed ticket for Box A had just been handed 
to him. He was sending it on at once in the hope that, 
in spite of the brief notice, Madame and one of her 
daughters would be able to make use of it. For himself, 
he had a dinner engagement on the evening; he 
hoped it would be possible for him to look in upon 
them at the theatre at, say, about ten o’clock, and 
renew an acquaintance that he valued. 

“Nicely worded,” declared Madame, “and nothing 
that gives any excuse for taking offence.” 

“I’ll get an envelope,” said Phyllis, “and we can 
post the ticket back. These young men mustn’t 
be allowed to think they can drop a distinguished 
family like ours, and take it up months afterwards.” 

“My dear,” protested Madame, “can’t you see 
it’s an order for the play? I’ve never yet failed to 
use a free ticket that has come in my direction, and 
I hope I never shall. Besides, if we send it back, 
it will be wasted!” 

Georgina gave up any rights she possessed, and 
for her generosity received from Phyllis a pair of 
gloves originally given by some donor who had spoilt 
the effect of the present by assuming that she took 
six and three-quarters ; Georgina had a novel to 
read that, judging by the title and the picture on the 
cover, her mother might have objected to, and declared 
herself content to stay in, and to look after Richard’s 


MADAME PRINCE 


151 


supper, and to wait up. At the box office entrance 
of the theatre the ticket was retained by a gentle- 
manly footman with hair prematurely white, and 
Madame and her daughter were requested to take a 
seat on the couch against the wall. To them, before 
apprehension had become effective, arrived a more 
than polite acting manager, a youth whose courtesy 
went beyond the bounds of perfection. His Majesty 
had sent word that he intended to see the play that 
evening. Box A was the royal box. If the ladies 
could be so very kind as to accept stalls instead, the 
proprietor would be most grateful; the difference 
in cost to be refunded here and now. So extremely 
sorry to give trouble. 

“We shall want a third stall,” said Phyllis, taking 
charge. “Leave it at the office, please, for Sir Ernest 
Chard. And settle with him about the money.” 
The acting manager almost tied himself in a knot, 
in the endeavour to express acknowledgments. 

It pained Madame to find that cash had been 
disbursed, 

“I do object to anything that looks like squander- 
ing.” 

— But there was no time to discuss this, for Chard 
made his way along the row before the curtain went 
up; the dinner had proved unamusing, he explained. 
And Madame, dividing her attentions between the 
play, and noting royalty’s attitude towards the play, 
and the dresses to be seen about the theatre and on 
the stage — with all this to do, she was able to give 
little consideration to her companions. At the end, 
Chard escorted them to the Tube station, protested 
against their thanks, declared that they must do 
this sort of thing again. 

“But not too often, said Madame to her daughter 
in the lift. “I hope you were very careful not to give 
him any sort of encouragement.” 


152 


MADAME PRINCE 


“Cold storage,” replied Phyllis, “is a phrase that 
describes my manner towards all baronets.” 

Madame, in the train, admitted she had enjoyed 
the evening; that it had taken her out of herself, 
and helped her to forget troubles. 

“You dear soul,” said Phyllis, speaking for once 
genuinely. “I hope nothing I do will ever add to 
them.” 

At home they found Georgina had a visitor; no 
less a person than Ethel, not seen, and rarely heard 
from since her marriage. The call was explained 
without delay. P. H. — in full, Mr. Peter Hilborough — 
wanted to borrow two hundred and fifty pounds. 

“And he must have it at once,” Ethel said. 
“Must !” she repeated, with emphasis. 


CHAPTER SEVEN 


T HEY stayed up late that night discussing 
the visit, an event so unexpected that it 
caused the trip to the theatre to assume 
minor importance. Madame had been compelled 
to send her eldest daughter away with nothing better 
than a promise to consider the application ; to 
Georgina and to Phyllis, she admitted that it would 
be as easy for her to produce a million pounds as to 
find the amount her son-in-law required. And this 
she regretted, not that it appeared to her a safe loan 
to make, but that it would relieve Ethel from anxiety, 
and, perhaps, bring the two households together. 

“Pretty hard,” complained Georgina, “to think 
that we should have to pay out to do that.” 

“My dear but extremely ignorant sister,” said 
Phyllis. “Money will perform miracles, if you have 
enough of it.” 

“What is Sir Ernest’s yearly income?” 

“Fool that I was,” cried Phyllis, striking herself 
reproachfully, “not to have asked that, between 
the acts this evening. It would have been so easy. 
‘Sir Ernest,’ I could have said, ‘before this romantic 
episode goes any further, will you be so good as 
to ’ ” 

“Nobody can ever get any sense out of you, 
Phyl.,” said Georgina. “You’ve got high spirits, 
and that’s about all.” 

“Other goods can be kept in bond,” remarked her 
sister. “Some day, when it comes to a question 
of duty, you will be astonished to see what happens.” 
153 


154 


MADAME PRINCE 


Madame remained, after the girls had gone, and 
looked through accounts. A sum of close upon forty 
pounds was, in all, due to her from various customers, 
and she wrote urgent letters to these, begging for 
remittances by an early post. “I am sure,” the notes 
said, “that it is merely by an oversight that the item 
has not been settled.” Whatever could be obtained 
as a result of these efforts would be offered to Hil- 
borough, so Madame determined, as a proof of a good 
intention, and an amiable spirit. The wholesale firm 
in Oxford Street would have to wait for payment. 

A solution of the difficulty offered itself for consider- 
ation two days later, soon after an imploring and 
urgent message to darling mother had arrived from 
Tufnell Park. A four-wheeler lumbered along High 
Street, with a stout driver using all his powers of 
satire on a horse that had exhausted itself in the 
climb from Holloway. The occupant of the cab 
refused to leave it until she had obtained audience 
of Madame, and the bulky cabman, returning from 
the ascent of the two flights of stairs, said to the 
horse, “Who — hoa! Gently there!” to the stationary 
animal as though suspecting it of a plan for galloping 
away. 

“Down in about two ticks,” he panted, to his fare. 
“Rather a fine looking woman, if I’m any judge.” 

“She’s my sister.” 

“Can’t say I recognise any great resemblance.” 

“She’s had a happy life,” moaned Aunt Emma. 
“I’ve had pretty nigh the opposite.” 

“Most of us,” said the driver, “get jest about 
what we deserve.” 

They were arguing this disputable point when 
Madame appeared. Of course, Aunt Emma was 
welcome, and certainly she was to come up at once. 
Madame was delighted to see her sister, hoped she 
would be able to stay for a while. 


MADAME PRINCE 


155 


“Once I get my foot inside your rooms,” said 
Aunt Emma, plainly, through the window of the cab, 
“I shall stay there for the rest of my life. Now it’s 
for you to say, my love, without any palaver, or beating 
about the bush, whether you are prepared to put 
up with that. If not, I must drive on and find a 
boarding house, or something.” 

“If ever you leave here,” declared Madame, “you’ll 
do so of your own accord. Jump out, at once, and 
let me carry your tin trunk.” The driver expressed 
a preference to discuss the question of payment for 
the journey from Cannon Street to Highgate with 
his fare, rather than with Madame; in leaving, he 
told his horse it was a mistake to have ever allowed 
female parties to enter business life. 

On the landing, Aunt Emma appealed to Madame 
that she should be excused from seeing the girls until 
she had had a good cry; she pleaded it was hard 
to have to confess to two young slips of things that 
one had made a failure of married life. To the 
sitting-room, therefore, Madame took her sister, 
induced her to take the easy chair, and remove bonnet, 
and to talk freely. The tears, required and expected, 
did not come until at one point in the recital Madame 
exclaimed : 

“But what a perfect brute the man is !” 

Whereupon, Aunt Emma wept freely, not in self- 
compassion, but that this name should be applied 
to poor Jim. Jim, she argued, meant well, and often 
behaved well, and his failures should render him an 
object of sympathy, not dislike. Answering questions, 
she explained that Jim was under the impression 
that she had gone to Maidstone to do some shopping; 
David had promised to give no information regarding 
the fact that, although taking a ticket to Maidstone, 
she had entered an up train. The railway authorities 
at Cannon Street offered to allow her to return free 


156 


MADAME PRINCE 


of charge, but she insisted that it was all her fault 
and paid the excess. 

“How I nerved myself up to leave him,” said 
Aunt Emma, wonderingly, “is beyond my powers 
of guessing, and that’s the truth. I’d been thinking 
it over, as you know, for some time past, but I never 
thought I’d have the cheek to carry it out. And if 
you, Milly, my love, had refused to have nothing to 
do with me ’ 

“But why should you imagine that for a single 
moment ?” 

“I ain’t a bad cook.” 

. “You’re a first-class cook.” 

“And I ( enjoy house- work.” 

“You’re capital at house-work.” 

“And,” Aunt Emma went on, urging what evi- 
dently appeared to her a small argument, “I’ve 
saved near upon five hundred pounds, and I’ve brought 
it with me in notes and gold, and I thought, perhaps, 
you wouldn’t mind taking charge of it for me. I 
don’t profess to understand anything about banks, 
and so forth ; and you do.” 

The girls were allowed to come in and see their 
aunt, after the money had been produced, laid upon 
the table, counted, and taken off by Madame to the 
local branch, where the manager received her with 
a cordiality that had, of late, become slightly veiled. 
For the comfort of Aunt Emma, information was 
given to Georgina and Phyllis that she had travelled 
to London by the doctor’s orders, and for the benefit 
of her health; Aunt Emma, agreeing to this as a 
wise and ingenious plan, took them separately and 
gave, in the strictest confidence, a full account of 
Jim’s treatment of her. 

“What I’ve had to put up with,” she said, “no 
one can tell,” but she certainly did her best in this 
direction, urging, however, in defence of Jim, that 


MADAME PRINCE 


157 


men were much of a muchness all the world over, 
and begging each not to be discouraged from entering 
matrimony by the information now set before them. 
“ ’Tis a jolly sight better,” she declared, impartially, 
“than not being married at all!” To her sister’s 
inquiries, Aunt Emma said that, looking back, it 
was difficult to say exactly how she had contrived 
to exercise thrift in such a persistent manner without 
exciting the suspicion of the watchful Jim Lambert; 
she did recall that on their wedding-day Jim men- 
tioned, with his natural frankness, that the dis- 
bursement of cash would always be his task, and his 
task alone, and she resolved, from that moment, 
to put by at every opportunity. A portion of 
the savings had been acquired, it appeared, with a 
certain amount of risk. Jim, starting married life, 
as he had threatened, with the air and manner of a 
chartered accountant, gradually tired of being bothered 
with small items, and Aunt Emma’s offer to make 
them up weekly, and obtain settlement from him 
was accepted. The rest, she declared, was easy. 

“A shilling here,” said Aunt Emma, “and half- 
crown there, soon mounts up you know.” 

“You swindled him then?” 

“No, no!” protested the other. “I bested him; 
that’s all !” 

“Wonder what he’d say if he knew?” 

“Likely enough,” answered Aunt Emma, “he’d 
have a fit. So it’s better he should never know. It 
rests between you and me, Milly, my love, and it’s for 
you to take what you want of it so as I shan’t be no 
expense to you. Only thing is: leave enough so that 
I can be put away, either in oak or elm, when my last 
hour comes.” 

“I think,” remarked Madame, “that I’d better 
open an account at the bank in your name, and you 
can have a cheque book, and ” 


158 


MADAME PRINCE 


“Begin to talk to me in that cruel and onsisterly 
way/’ said Aunt Emma, finding her handkerchief 
again, “and I go right back to Jim.” 

Madame, for five minutes by the clock, considered 
the matter when the establishment closed that even- 
ing. At the end of this space she said to herself, 
“It’s worth risking,” and soon afterwards she was 
descending the hill that hoped soon to find itself rid 
of workmen, and in the possession of an electric tram 
service: the message left at home was to the effect 
that she was going to make a call in regard to an 
outstanding account, and give the debtor a piece of her 
mind. Near the Archway Tavern she stepped out, and 
went along Junction Road, turned into one of the 
hilly thoroughfares on the right. At the address 
pencilled on the envelope which she carried, she 
knocked and waited, looking about her interestedly. 
The steps left nothing to be desired; the windows 
compared favourably with others in the road. The 
door opened, and in preparing to give a smile to 
Ethel, she found a tall girl, capped and aproned, 
standing there. Somehow it had never occurred to 
Madame that Ethel would keep a servant. She had 
always imagined Ethel as fully occupied with domestic 
tasks. 

“I will ascertain,” said the tall maid, rather 
austerely, after listening to the name, “whether it 
is convenient for my mistress to see you.” She re- 
turned to the hall after a brief absence. “Be so kind 
as to step this way.” 

Madame found herself in a drawing-room; the 
maid had switched on the lights and disappeared. 
Madame’s own photograph in a silver frame stood 
on the grand pianoforte, holding the distinguished 
place with no competition; she flushed with pleasure 
at the sight of it. For the rest, the apartment was 
furnished with what seemed to her good taste. In 


MADAME PRINCE 


159 


her own house, she was aware there was too much 
of everything, consequent on the accumulation that 
years bring: here the line had been drawn before 
excess was reached. 

“You wished to see my wife?” A bass voice, 
near to her, caused Madame to start. “Oh, I beg 
your pardon,” said Peter Hilborough, offering his 
hand courteously. “The girl muddled the name. 
So pleased to see you, Madame. Do sit down.” He 
waited carefully until she had taken a chair, and then 
seated himself. “My wife,” he explained, “is out, 
making a rather late call. She will be in directly.” 

“You don’t mind if I wait?” 

“Delighted !” he said. 

Madame looked at him. He had shaved off his 
ineffective moustache, but otherwise his appearance 
was much the same as when he had been in the habit 
of calling at High Street: it was his manner that 
had changed. Madame felt a sensation of pride in 
noting the work her daughter had accomplished. 
The pause was broken by both speaking together; 
he apologised. 

“Ethel called on us the other evening,” said 
Madame. 

“I wasn’t aware,” he remarked. 

“You are taking up a new business, she tells me.” 

He nodded. “My view is that the time has come 
when I ought to make a start on my own account. 
My wife and I have been talking it over for some 
time.” 

“There seems to be a question concerning capital.” 

“She should not have troubled you with that,” 
said Hilborough. “I know the subject occupies her 
thoughts, but she ought not to have mentioned it 
to you. That sounds like her ring. Please excuse me.” 

Ethel came into the room swiftly and hugged her 
mother. Hilborough assisted his wife to remove wraps. 


160 


MADAME PRINCE 


“Isn’t this jolly, P. H., of the dear soul to give 
us a call?” P. H. agreed and said that Madame 
was often the subject of their conversation. “I’ve 
had a lost journey this evening,” she went on. “Your 
mother listened to all I had to say, and then sent for 
her new husband. He gave me an answer without 
any delay.” 

“If you remember, dear,” said P. H. with deference, 
“I ventured to suggest that it would be useless to 
make the suggestion in that quarter.” 

“But we must have the two fifty,” protested Ethel. 
“With that, and the rest you have, a beginning could 
be made. But two fifty we must have.” 

“I’ve brought a cheque for the amount,” announced 
Madame. It seemed to her that whatever the perils 
might be, this dramatic moment paid for every- 
thing. 

Peter Hilborough, an hour later, put on hat and 
overcoat, in order to escort Madame to the foot of 
Highgate Hill: Ethel decided to perform the task 
herself, and he obeyed her instructions. Before 
Madame left the house, he explained that the cheque 
represented one-fourth of the capital required; five 
hundred had been put down in his name; Ewart, his 
partner, had contributed, and Madame’s advance com- 
pleted the sum required. The point was, did Madame 
wish her amount to be considered as a loan, bearing an 
interest, or did she wish it to be reckoned as a share 
in the business? To which, Madame replied (being in 
the joyous condition of mind that approaches reckless- 
ness), — “Let’s make it a share in the business, and 
chance the ducks!” Hilborough, rather startled by 
such an expression in such a house, promised that her 
wishes should be carried out, and assured her he had 
every reason to hope for success. 

The mother and daughter walked along affection- 
ately and slowly, and Ethel, after describing her 


MADAME PRINCE 


161 


gratitude, inquired whether any alteration in P. H. 
had been observed. Gratified by the complimentary 
reply, Ethel explained that it could scarcely have 
been effected if she had not from the first taken entire 
control, without assistance or discouragement from 
relatives. She had always, as her mother would 
remember, seen P. H. as a rough diamond who was 
capable of being polished; Ethel, not pretending 
that it had been easy, could scarcely describe how 
glad she was the long process was nearly over, and that 
her people could now be invited to see the result. 

“P. H. is clever at his business, and he says I help 
him. I do try to. And don’t you worry about the 
money, mother dear.” 

“I seldom worry about anything,” declared Madame. 

“When you do,” said Ethel, “you keep it to your- 
self. Good night, and bless you!” 


The new condition of affairs had the effect of re- 
juvenating the business at High Street. For one 
thing, here was Madame relieved of all the labour 
and turmoil that a kitchen exacts; Aunt Emma 
pleaded for a free hand and individual control, and 
meals now had the element of the unexpected; an 
occasional compliment when a dish appeared of 
unusual excellence was all the lady from Kent required. 
For another thing, here was money on deposit account 
at the bank. Not Madame’s own money, but still, 
money, and it secured her from the constant agitation 
that came with the instant paying in of cheques 
to permit of some retarded disbursement. For another 
detail, Madame found comfort when ladies, in the 
course of conversation — that began with coming 
fashions, went off into a dozen by-ways, and came 
back to coming fashions — when these happened to 
say — 


162 


MADAME PRINCE 


“By the by, how is your married daughter getting 
on, Madame?” 

— For then she had no longer any need to make 
inventions which had to be remembered; she was 
able to speak with enthusiasm of her daughter’s 
house, of the admirably trained servant there. An 
encouraging rumour came from the dentist’s sister. 
Miss Warland had hopped across, as she expressed 
it, to offer handbills concerning addresses that were 
being given on her favourite subject, at Portman 
Rooms, Baker Street ; she told Madame that in 
making a pause before entering the opposition establish- 
ment, she distinctly heard one of the young women 
say: 

“If I’d known what a temper you’ve got, I’d never 
have put my money into the business.” 

And the other remarked, “Wish to goodness I 
hadn’t allowed myself to be talked out of going on 
the stage.” 

Miss Warland added, in her report, that they were 
both as smooth as butter so soon as she presented 
herself, calling each other by the title of darling, and 
speaking, with great satisfaction, of the number of 
commissions the season had brought. “But that 
didn’t take me in,” said Miss Warland, sagaciously. 
“Only wish I’d picked up a bit more. Listeners 
seldom hear any good of other people. If they did, 
they’d give up listening.” As an acknowledgment 
of the news brought, the dentist’s sister was informed 
concerning Ethel, and Ethel’s house, Ethel’s husband. 
She remarked, grimly, that it would be interesting 
to see how long it all lasted. 

Madame arranged for another dressing-room to 
be set in the corner of the showroom. Madame had 
the paper taken off and the walls distempered in a 
yellow tone that took and gave back all the sunlight. 
Madame changed her advertisement in the local 


MADAME PRINCE 


163 


journal, and it now read as a somewhat austere 
notice, with the old phrase, “Ladies’ own Materials 
made up” pointedly omitted; Richard gave assis- 
tance, and, at the printing office, offered suggestions 
concerning type and setting up. The editor, it appeared, 
came in at the moment, and Richard gave him one or 
two hints in regard to the journal, hints which the 
editor (who must have been a singularly good-natured 
man) promised to consider. He invited Richard to 
send in an article of some kind possessing interest to the 
neighbourhood, and on the Friday that the new 
advertisement appeared, there was on page five a 
column headed, “Master Whittington. A new Version 
of an old Story. By Richard Hammond Prince.” 
The journal paid by sending half a dozen complimen- 
tary copies of the issue, and two of these were left 
casually about the showroom that those who waited 
might read, and having read, inquire into the question 
of relationship existing between the writer and Ma- 
dame; one was scissored carefully, and the slip pasted 
in the locked-up book that was kept in Madame’s desk. 
About half way down the column, a painful disaster 
had happened in the shape of a comma taking the 
place of a semicoin. 

“One puts in the very best efforts of one’s brain,” 
declared Richard aggrievedly to the girls, “and even 
then one is at the mercy of these people.” 

“One should take one’s little gun,” suggested 
Phyllis, “and go out with one’s courage at one’s 
highest point, and shoot one’s printer.” 

“Anyway,” retorted the lad, “you couldn’t have 
written it.” 

“Richard,” she said soothingly, “we all recognise 
you as the clever member of the family.” He acknowl- 
edged the compliment with a jerk of the head. “On 
the male side, I mean,” Phyllis added. 

Finally, in her new adventures, Madame took a step 


164 


MADAME PRINCE 


justified by nothing but vaulting ambition and deter- 
mined rivalry. Madame acquainted her customers 
with the fact that she intended visiting Paris. She 
would, after her return, be At Home on such and such 
a date, and between such and such hours, when the 
newest models were to be exhibited, and the honour 
of their company was requested. R.S.V.P. 

“Bluff, -I suppose,” said Miss Warland, in accepting 
one of the cards. 

“Not at all,” replied Madame. “I leave by the 
morning service on Wednesday.” 

“Alone?” 

“Quite alone.” 

“ I wonder you dare to do it,” said Miss Warland 
in scandalised tones. “Paris, of all places! If it was 
me, I should fully expect to find myself talked 
about.” 

“That,” remarked Madame, “is just exactly what 
I want. Mention it over the way if you get the chance.” 

There was Aunt Emma to look after Georgina and 
Phyllis, and Georgina and Phyllis to look after Miss 
Lilley and Miss Bushell; Richard, in the City all 
day, could be reckoned able to look after himself. 
So Madame went off with a travelling case, closely 
watched by the two young ladies opposite, where 
the window showed less of the early spirit of adven- 
ture, and one or two of the knobbed stands were 
without any head-piece; the boy had disappeared the 
week before, taking his brown uniform with him, 
and was reported to be selling evening newspapers 
outside the Tube station at the foot of the hill. 
Georgina wept when her mother had gone, and de- 
clared the responsibility was greater than she would 
be able to bear, but Phyllis took charge, showing 
readiness in dealing with callers, and more especially 
when, at closing time, young Chard appeared at the 
top of the staircase and asked for Madame. 


MADAME PRINCE 


165 


“How very unfortunate I am to miss seeing her,” 
he remarked. 

“It is indeed,” said Phyllis, “one of the most painful 
incidents in the history of the British nation. You’ll 
stay to supper?” 

Georgina went, to give the necessary hint to Aunt 
Emma. The two kissed each other swiftly. 

“I scarcely recognised my little girl’s voice on 
the telephone this afternoon,” he whispered. 

“Choked,” she explained, “and rendered husky with 
the palpitating joy of conversing with the nobility.” 

“I wonder how much of you is real, and how 

much ” Georgina returned. “And how much,” 

he went on, with some confusion, “a first-class season 
ticket would really cost.” 

“It would depend a good deal,” replied Phyllis, “on 
the stations for which it was made available. Georgina, 
are the preparations for a meal sufficient but not 
extravagant, already in hand? Sir Ernest, arouse 
your dormant intelligence and come and help. By 
the by, can baronets lay tablecloths ?” 

“Baronets can try,” he answered. 

Aunt Emma, summoned to the feast which she 
had made ready, sent word by Georgina that she felt 
quite comfortable in the kitchen, and preferred to 
stay there. To Phyllis, who made a personal appeal, 
she declared it was not for the likes of her to mix 
with her superiors; she had never had much experi- 
ence of this, and assured her niece that she would 
be about as happy at the sitting-room table, in the 
circumstances, as a fish out of water. Wherefore, 
the three young people had supper by themselves, 
without the restraint that maturity imposes, and 
Chard did sculptor work out of moistened bread, 
and did tricks with matches, and made on the back 
of an envelope a fancy sketch of Georgina addressing 
a vast political meeting. 


166 


MADAME PRINCE 


‘‘How clever you are!” cried Georgina, impressed. 
“Do let me have that when you’ve signed it.” 

“If I could direct all my trifling gifts into one 
channel, I might, perhaps, be able to make a fair 
living. As it is — — ” He shrugged his shoulders. 

Georgina, suddenly developing a talent for ani- 
mated cross-examination, fired a number of questions 
which were answered with easy good nature. He 
went to the City every day, or nearly every day. 
Sometimes he had tasks to perform, sometimes none. 
His mother was alive, and an active bazaar opener 
in the neighbourhood of Turnham Green. Now on 
speaking terms with her son, and extremely amiable 
towards the rest of the world, and especially in the 
direction of Nonconformity. 

“What do you mean, Sir Ernest,” demanded 
counsel, “by ‘now’ on speaking terms ?” 

“A slight coolness existed for a couple of years or 
so.” 

“Why?” 

“My mother,” he answered, “arranged a marriage 
in which I was to be concerned. I saw the lady, and 
that ended the transaction.” 

“Had she money?” 

“Tons !” 

“You might have done worse,” urged Georgina. 

“Georgina, my love,” interposed her sister; “you 
have conducted your case with great acumen, obtaining 
information to which I have listened with interest. 
But there is a line drawn between a proper desire to 
be friendly and an attitude of morbid curiosity. That 
line you are now approaching.” 

“There must be plenty of girls in society or near 
it,” persisted Georgina, “who’d be only too glad to 
get hold of a title.” 

“You are putting ideas into Sir Ernest’s head,” 
said Phyllis, “that should never find a resting-place 


MADAME PRINCE 


167 


there. Pass the cheese to our distinguished guest, 
and ask him if he likes crust or crumb.” 

They had singing after the meal, and Aunt Emma, 
discovered outside the door, was dragged in and forced 
to take the easy chair. Shy at first, she was, in less 
than ten minutes, engaged on the pleasing task of im- 
parting to the young man some of the most acute 
episodes in her past; Aunt Emma had reached her 
twenty-second birthday and the first meeting with Mr. 
James Lambert, when Chard declared the hour for 
leaving had arrived. The two girls accompanied him 
to the nearest taxi-cab. 

“And other folk,” remarked Georgina, on the 
return, “are probably looking at him, and thinking 
he’s just an ordinary person.” 

“Your reflection is a sad one, but, likely enough, 
true.” 

“That envelope,” said Georgina. “The one on 
which he drew me. It was dated the day before yester- 
day, and it was addressed to him in your handwriting.” 

“Reminiscences of a Lady Detective,” commented 
Phyllis. “Chapter One. How I saved my sister 
from ruin.” 

“That’s all very well,” retorted the other; “but 
what do I get for not telling mother when she comes 
home. You know as well as I do that he’d never 
dream of marrying you.” 

“Take one of my voice lozenges this evening,” 
advised Phyllis. “All this chattering, after years of 
silence, is trying for the vocal cords.” 

Madame came back safely, to the content of her 
daughters who were beginning to tire of Aunt Emma’s 
single topic for conversation. Madame’s talk of Paris 
shops was more exhilarating than the question whether 
it was right and permissible, in any circumstances, 
to leave your husband, and how far the instructions 
of the Prayer Book ought to be adhered to in modern 


168 


MADAME PRINCE 


times. Madame, without delay, set upon the task of 
preparing for the reception. Answers had come to the 
cards, accepting the invitation ; some ladies, who 
had not troubled to reply, would doubtless be present. 
“We shall have a rare old crowd,” said Madame, 
rubbing her hands, “and we must all put our shoulders 
to the wheel, and do everything we can to make 
it go off well. I want to let the parties opposite see 
what we can do when we turn back our sleeves.” 

The preliminaries went forward briskly. Carpets 
were taken up and well and deservedly beaten, by 
permission of the dentist, in the back garden ; linoleum 
was scrubbed, orders given to the florist. Models from 
Paris — they were, to be candid, very few, but certainly 
fit — arrived by grande vitesse service, and the boxes 
were opened under eager superintendence of a bunch 
of heads. Aunt Emma nearly forgot her own grievances 
and would, on the day before the great day, have been 
able to dismiss them completely from her memory, 
only that her husband’s man appeared chuckling 
with satisfaction at having found his way. 

“Begun to think I were lost, but it turned out 
I warn’t !” 

The master, it seemed, had sent David to 
make inquiries and report: David was quite willing 
to adopt Madame’s suggestion that he should, on 
his return, declare that nothing could be discovered 
concerning the missus, so far as The Village and High 
Street were concerned. David, in his anxiety to play 
the part well and effectively, suggested he should 
affect to have found an undertaker who was under 
the impression that he had had the honour of con- 
veying Mrs. Lambert to the cemetery. This was not 
seconded, and it fell to the ground. 

“I suppose he’s terr’ble upset at me leaving him,” 
said Aunt Emma. 

“No, missus,” replied David. “Can’t say as 


MADAME PRINCE 


169 


how he is. To tell you the truth, he seems pretty 
middling cheerful over it.” 

“The deuce he does,” said Aunt Emma, with 
spirit. “I’ll let him see that two can play at that 
game. He might, at least, have had the decency 
to go nearly off his head. Shows you what men are !” 

“We’re a rum lot,” admitted David. “And the 
rummiest thing is there’s no two of us azackly alike. 
For instance, I’m as different from him as chalk from 
cheese.” 

“You’re a good feller,” admitted Aunt Emma. 

“Not so good,” he argued, “but what I can manage 
to go back home, and put him off the track. If I 
hadn’t been brought up on the farm, I reckon I sh’d 
have been a member of the Houses of Parliament 
by this time.” 

The great day began with a contrary incident. 
Aunt Emma announced her intention, after taking 
the night to think it over, to go down and tax Jim 
Lambert with indifference, and give him a piece of 
her mind; she declared that the rest and comfort 
of Highgate had furnished her with the requisite 
determination. Madame urged 'the advantages of a 
delay: Aunt Emma said that unless she took the 
step now, she would probably never take it; she had 
kept awake for the purpose of composing remarks to 
be addressed to Jim, and it seemed Heaven’s own 
pity to waste them. “This and worse will never do,” 
she added, with a vague sense of being emphatic; 
“this and better may.” 

Therefore Aunt Emma’s assistance had to be ruled 
out of the scheme of the day; in going, she expressed 
the hope that the train would not be late, for otherwise 
half of the prepared sentences would assuredly go 
out of her head. Miss Warland, seeing her go, skipped 
upstairs and asked whether she could give any assist- 
ance. Madame said that if Miss Warland would be 


170 


MADAME PRINCE 


so very kind as to look after the tea The dentist’s 

sister interrupted with the reminder that she had been 
formally requested to attend ; she was, however, 
in a position to lend a reliable charwoman. Offer 
accepted. Madame called her daughters and the staff 
together and warned them, once more, of the necessity 
of making the afternoon a great success. 

Comes at two o’clock to the stroke, the dentist’s 
sister fully apparelled, and wearing a motor veil to 
give a note of affluence, and to suggest that the exhi- 
bition is reckoned worth a long and dusty journey. 
Come, immediately upon her high heels, a mother and 
three daughters from a house on the side of South 
Grove, a district that has the air of being exclusively 
inhabited by the medical profession. Comes, with a 
protest against all stairs, and especially against the 
stairs of Madame’s establishment, the wife of a dis- 
tinguished licensed victualler; she calls Georgina 
and Phyllis, “Duck,” and counsels each, with 
some earnestness, never to let her figure get the better 
of her. “Very nice, very pretty, very attractive,” 
says the stout lady of the models, “but not exactly 
my style, if you understand what I mean. Any extra 
charge for sitting down? Put me somewheres in a 
corner where I can watch the others without being 
seen. Oh, fetch me a stronger chair than that, duck. 
That one’s no use for fifteen stun.” 

The afternoon recovers from this shock, for car- 
riages begin to drive up, and the commissionaire, en- 
gaged for the day, and wearing medals that inspire 
confidence, is kept busy in stepping forward, saluting, 
opening doors, and escorting visitors to the staircase. 
“The first floor, if you don’t mind, lady!” One or 
two of the callers on entering the showroom, adopt 
a high voice that is either meant to cover nervousness, 
or to create an impression; finding that conversation 
is going on in quiet tones, they quickly readjust 


MADAME PRINCE 


171 


methods, and fall into line. Ethel arrives, and at once 
makes herself unobtrusively useful. The borrowed 
charwoman, in sending the first cups of tea, 
provides a brew of such amazing blackness and 
strength that visitors give a cry of dismay on seeing 
it, and Ethel takes charge of this department, and 
the charwoman says that, of course, everybody to 
their likings, but for herself what she prefers is some- 
thing you can taste. Phyllis and Georgina wear the 
models, foreign and home made, and stroll around and 
about. 

The great and impressive detail about the after- 
noon is that, by half-past three, there is no space to 
move. The windows are opened widely, the buzz of 
conversation goes out into High Street, and, Madame 
hopes, across the way. Fresh arrivals appearing, 
and finding the showroom crowded to the doorways, 
they stand upon the landing, unable to enter and un- 
willing to go; down the staircase friends meet, and 
have so much to say that other folk are arrested, and 
compelled to wait. All but one. A male visitor this, 
who forces his way up, pushing ladies aside to the 
wall and shouting aloud, 

“Where’s my missus? Want to see my missus, 
I do. My missus is somewheres hereabouts, and I’m 
going to dang well see her.” 

Madame, in the centre of the crowded showroom, 
hears the voice, and somehow contrives to get out 
of the press, to meet Jim Lambert on the staircase, 
to speak to him quietly and briefly, with Jim declaring, 
“I don’t care what you say!” and presently, “Well, 
if you argue it in that manner, I can’t object!” and to 
persuade him to go, albeit with reluctance, down to 
the street door. “Ha’ past seven sharp, mind !” 
he cries from that point. To the visitors who have 
been watching the scene, Madame explains that Jim is 
the husband of the charwoman now assisting in the 


172 


MADAME PRINCE 


kitchen. One of those sad cases where man and wife 
cannot get on well together. A little more tact re- 
quired, perhaps, on both sides. The ladies nod to show 
that they understand, and, venturing to doubt 
whether it is worth while going out of one’s way to 
help the lower classes, signify approval of Madame’ s 
well-intentioned efforts. 

Later, the crowd begins to loosen itself. Patronesses 
shake hands with Madame, and congratulate her, and 
make appointments for the coming week; a few say, 
quite gaily in leaving, “Send me on some time your 
little account !” Below, the commissionaire puts 
away his metal stoppered pipe, and conducts ladies 
across the pavement to carriages as though this 
represented the most perilous part of their journey; 
his manner is equally good to those of inferior quality 
who inquire respecting tramcars. Shopkeepers are 
out in High Street, making no effort to conceal inter- 
est, but over the way the two young women keep them- 
selves in retreat. The largest motor car gets a cheer 
from youngsters, free from school, as it goes South- 
wood Lane way. The licensed victualler’s lady, the 
last to depart, says of the afternoon, that it has been a 
fair old beano, adding, as she takes the staircase slowly 
and carefully, that it has given her something fresh 
to talk about. 

“You’re one of the lucky ones, Madame,” she calls, 
from half-way down. 

“Do you know,” smiles Madame, “I do believe 
lam!” 


Madame went out, at a quarter-past seven to keep 
the engagement with her brother-in-law. The April 
evening was pleasant after the heat and strain of 
the day, and Mr. Warland, dentist, made some remark 
to this effect; he was not speaking with first-hand 


MADAME PRINCE 


173 


knowledge, but he believed it to be true, that the 
daffodils in Waterlow Park were a sight, and that 
the dwarf tulips there were worth looking at. 

“If you can wait half a minute whilst I find my 
hat and walking stick ” 

“Sorry,” she said. “But I have to meet a friend.” 

“Some other time perhaps.” 

“We’ll see,” said Madame. Miss Warland called 
to her brother that he was wanted on the telephone. 
This appeared odd for the bell had not rung. 

At the iron cage which protected the Whittington 
stone, Madame thought she recognised Jim Lambert. 
The figure was swaying slightly, and this seemed to 
confirm the impression. 

“What, Milly!” cried the man, turning as his 
shoulder was touched. 

“Sam!” she ejaculated affrightedly. 

Madame raced up the high pavement, past the 
St. Joseph’s schools, to St. Joseph’s church. Glancing 
over her shoulder, she saw the man was following, 
aided by the peculiar law which permits folk to run 
when they would find difficulty in walking. She turned, 
and flew to the gates of the park, that were on the 
point of being closed by a brown costumed official. 

“Please let me in,” she cried. “And please, please, 
keep out the man who’s coming along.” 

“Nothing easier !” said the official readily. 

In scrambling up the newly gravelled pathways, 
she heard contentious voices at the gate, and endeav- 
oured to increase her pace. At the higher exit, 
Madame was told she had very nearly jolly well 
managed to get herself locked in for the night. Two 
minutes later she reached her own rooms. Georgina 
and Phyllis, in looking for the rarely wanted smelling 
salts agreed that the day had been too much for their 
mother. 

“But it all went off very well,” they declared. 


174 


MADAME PRINCE 


“Very well indeed.” 

“Scarcely anything happened to interfere.” 

“Scarcely anything,” she agreed. “Your Aunt 
Emma ought to be home soon. That is to say, if 
she really is coming back.” 

“She surely wouldn’t be so absurd ” began 

Phyllis, warmly. 

“You can never be quite certain,” said Madame, 
“where a man and woman are concerned.” 


CHAPTER EIGHT 


A UNT EMMA returned that night, and, cal- 
culations made, it was reckoned that she 
had passed by her husband somewhere near 
to Sevenoaks. Her courage failed, it appeared, on 
arriving at the country station, and she remained 
in the waiting-room there for one-half of the day; 
this over, determination reappeared, and hiring a 
closed fly, she drove to the farm. David, meeting 
her, gave the news that the master had gone up to 
London to see her. David was greatly disturbed 
over the incident, and pointed out that he had 
submitted to three-quarters of an hour of badgering 
before a chance remark of his proved fatal to the 
ingenious scheme he had constructed. David spoke of 
himself as a darned fool, and challenged Aunt Emma 
to call the description incorrect. 

“But it's turned out all right,” she said, com- 
placently to Madame. “Him coming up here shows 
that he’s still got a corner in his heart for me, and me 
going down there is enough to let him see I don’t 
want to be bad friends. What I can’t understand is, 
why you didn’t meet him down outside the Archway 
Tavern, as you had promised.” 

“I was stopped on the way.” 

“It wasn’t treating poor Jim nicely. He’s had a 
lot to put up with, and there’s no ’casion to make 
it harder for him. Jim, you must remember, isn’t 
like an ornary man.” 

“Look here, Emma ! Do you, or do you not, want 
to go back to him ?” 


i75 


176 


MADAME PRINCE 


“I do,” replied her sister, “and I don’t, if you can 
understand that. And if you can’t understand it, 
why it’s only because you’ve gone through life without 
having any trouble worth mentioning. That’s what 
prevents you from taking what I call a sympathetic 
view, where other women are concerned. Every- 
thing’s been arranged smooth for you, and everything’s 
been arranged for me awk’ard. No use arguing about it, 
but there it is, and there's no sense in denying of it.” 

A letter from David, written with evident labour, 
although helped by ruled pencil lines, said that the 
master had come home very much upset. David, 
going on with his work of diplomacy (which he 
assumed, with some reason, to consist in the with- 
holding of truth) remarked to Mr. Lambert that 
doubtless the missus would sooner or later return 
to the farm, and he discovered that his master had 
already received information regarding the day’s 
visitor from the station people. Jim Lambert said 
that he now disbelieved the chance statement made 
on a former occasion by David. “He compared me,” 
wrote David, “to a party in the Old Testament, and 
her to the party’s wife.” 

“Very well,” said Aunt Emma, with spirit, and 
taking up a new mood. “I was going to write him 
a nice long letter, but now that he calls me Sapphira, 
I just shan’t. I’ll show him I can be quite as off-hand 
as what he can.” 

Richard submitted to his mother a short story 
which he had written on the subject of Aunt Emma 
and her husband. Madame said that, supposing 
incidents of the kind were reckoned correct subjects 
for light-hearted treatment, it could be admitted 
that Richard’s story struck her as undoubtedly 
clever; she doubted whether it would appeal to the 
general reader. A Sunday journal printed the story 
and sent to Richard Hammond Prince, Esq., a cheque 


MADAME PRINCE 


177 


for two guineas. The young man spoke of purchasing, 
with the money, something to be presented to his 
mother; later, he thought it would be sufficient to 
devote one-half of the sum to this purpose, and 
eventually decided to use it all in buying a leather 
suit case that would come in well for his holidays. 
He took his fortnight in due course, and Madame and 
Aunt Emma and the girls declared the house would 
seem empty without him. Richard was in great spirits 
before going off; he chaffed his mother concerning 
her recent decision to go no more a-shopping down 
in Holloway. 

“Write to me each day, boy,” suggested Madame. 

‘Til find time for that, mother.” 

“And come back brown and well.” 

“Trust me!” said Richard. 

“Pm going to have your room turned out, and the 
walls re-papered, and a new carpet laid down.” 

“That,” he said in grateful tones; “that is really 
jolly of you. Let me give you a good kiss. You’re 
the best mother in the world.” 

It was immediately after the departure of Richard 
that Mr. Warland, of the ground floor, made his 
proposal of marriage, and received Madame’s prompt 
answer. 

It should have been mentioned before this that 
the dentist was not alone at Highgate Village in his 
admiration, or in his offers. Tradesmen there did 
not make extravagant fortunes, but they often 
attained the position called comfortable, and occasion- 
ally the time came when one of these began to convey 
hints to neighbours of the necessity of giving the 
younger ones a chance, of the circumstance that 
a man seemed to have no time to give to a man’s 
garden ; sometimes nerves were mentioned. And, 
whilst it often happened that those who took up an 


178 


MADAME PRINCE 


attitude of resignation had wives possessing views 
and preferences which had to be considered — you 
found couples in High Street who had talked for years 
of retirement, and would go on discussing for years, 
because the mere fact that one made a suggestion 
induced the other to object to it — there were also 
bachelors of middle age, and widowers. And here 
the custom was (either before disposing of the good- 
will and business, or immediately after the formality 
had been completed) to call on Madame, and to have 
what was described, in anticipation, as just a quite 
friendly sort of chat. The methods varied, but the 
object was the same: Phyllis suggested that her 
mother was pained and hurt if any unencumbered 
tradesman left the neighbourhood without making an 
offer, or suggesting it. Madame declared amusedly 
that each repetition found her perturbed by the 
compliment; Phyllis said this was sheer affectation, 
and recommended that a notice should be placed 
on the ground floor door, announcing that proposals 
could be attended to only on alternate Thursdays. 
Madame, pressed to be frank and candid, admitted 
that she could generally tell, by the manner of the 
caller, the intention he had in view. 

“Here we are again, and how are we by this time, 
eh? Well and flourishing? That's good!" This 
was the breezy manner; in its highest form it sug- 
gested that the visitor might, at any moment, break 
into a horn-pipe dance. “What a lucky thing it is 
to be alive, isn't it, now? And to glance at you, 
Madame, no one would dream that you came here 

in the year Let me see now! What was it 

exactly? I ought to know, because I can remember 
your husband, and that takes us back more than a 
quarter of an hour. I recollect my poor old mother 
prophesied, at the time, that you’d be married again, 
before the twelve-month was up. Strikes me, you 


MADAME PRINCE 


179 


must have been uncommon fond of him. Great tribute, 
mind you, to the departed when the one that’s left 
keeps true to his memory, so to speak, for such a 
lengthened period. All the same, there’s no use in 
arguing that time doesn’t make a difference. I don’t 
mean, so far as you are concerned, Madame, in looks. 
Please don’t misunderstand me. You’ve only got to 
glance at your reflection in that long mirror over there 
to reassure yourself on that point. What I meant 
was that you’ve surely been in harness just about 
long enough.” 

Madame, with the aid of practice, was able here 
to interject a sharp contradiction. The caller, much 
disconcerted by this, talked of the marguerites in 
the window boxes, and took his leave. 

Also, there was the self -sympathetic appeal, apt to 
become lugubrious, and tearful. “You know, Madame, 
as well as I do, that we can none of us last for ever. 
Life has got its allotted span, if I may say so without 
offence, and there’s no denying the fact that each 
birthday finds us a year older. I was reminded of 
the circumstance only the other day when my one 
daughter, who’s been keeping house for me ever 
since I lost my poor wife — she suddenly, and without 
warning, and all at once, broke the news that she 
was going to get married. Well, now, my argument 
is that man is not made to live alone. I don’t want 
to bother you, Madame, with my troubles, because 
no doubt you have plenty of your own. What I 
was going to say is that if I give up business, and if 
I’m left by myself, I shall simply wear away to a 
shadow. That’s the positive truth. I shall get into 
a brooding state. I shall find myself steeped, so to 
speak, in melancholy. I shall review the past and con- 
sider the present, and think of the future, and it won’t 
do me any good, I do assure you. Now,” confidenti- 
ally, “what I thought was this. You and me, we’ve 


180 


MADAME PRINCE 


be$n on friendly, nodding terms for a good many 
years, and I don't mind saying that Fve got a high 
respect for you. A very high respect. A very high 
respect indeed. And if you’ve no special objection 
to marrying a widower, why now’s your chance!” 
This type of visitor usually found a clean handker- 
chief on taking his departure, shook it out, and with 
it dried his eyes. 

There came once — the incident well noted in that 
it was the single case of its kind where assistance 
had to be called for — a shopkeeper, a big burly man 
who was retiring in one sense of the word only; he 
lived at the far end of Archway Road, and had 
scarcely any claim to be a Highgate Village resident. 
Apart from this, he had evidently looked in on the 
way at licensed premises; his climbing of the stair- 
case was the task of an amateur on Mont Blanc 
without ropes, and in the absence of a guide. Lurching 
into the showroom, he endeavoured to flick finger and 
thumb, and showed some astonishment in finding him- 
self unable to perform this feat. 

"You!” he said, beckoning to Madame. "Want 
you jes’ for half a sec. Come ou’side. On the landing. 
Some’ing to say, privately. Nothing to do with any- 
body else. Jes’ our two selves. Two lil’ turtle doves.” 
He was so enormously diverted by the aptness of the 
description, that he laughed outright. 

"What do you want?” demanded Madame, curtly. 

"Not s’ loud,” begged the caller. "Needn’t let 
all Highgate know. Stric’ly secret. Onter noos. 
Mustn’t let it get noised abroad. Otherwise scandal.” 
Outside the door he gave a brief lecture on the evil 
done by whispering tongues, illustrated by examples 
within his own knowledge. 

"Have you been drinking?” inquired Madame. 

"The merest lil’ drop,” he declared. "Jes’ enough 
to keep off effects of a cold.” 


MADAME PRINCE 


181 


“I think you had better go away, and come back 
when you’re sober.” 

“Lis’en to common sense,” he urged. “If I was 
sober, sh’d I be calling here? Course not! Ask 
yourself the question. Le’s be reasonable.” 

Madame insisted that he should explain the object 
of his visit, and then leave. He said frankly but 
thickly, that he desired to marry her. He smiled at 
Madame’s answer, declaring that he knew what a 
lady’s “No” meant as well as most men — probably 
better — and on this clutched at Madame’s arm, 
brought the fumes of spirits near to her. Perturbed, 
she called aloud, and Aunt Emma rushed out. The 
burly figure, after its hurried descent, rested on the 
mat near the street door for a while, and Madame 
was about to remark that her sister had used too much 
violence, and to express the fear that the visitor 
had hurt his spine, when the gentleman pulled 
himself together, and in a dazed way began to once 
more climb the staircase. 

“Evening,” he said, swaying slightly. “Jes’ 
called round to see if you’d be willing to listen to 
proposal marriage.” 

“The answer is, ‘Certainly not !’ ” replied Madame. 

“That’s awright,” he remarked, turning to go. “No 
offence given, no offence taken. But mind you this.” 
With dignity. “Mind you this. I never ask a lady 
more’n once!” 

Madame’s decision in regard to Holloway and 
shopping there, was not to be broken. For a while, 
after reception day, she abstained altogether from 
going out, and Phyllis had to speak seriously, 
and to take her, disregarding pleas of business, 
almost by force, of an evening, away along North 
Road, down North Hill, through the passage on the 
right, and to Highgate Wood, where the tall black 


182 


MADAME PRINCE 


gaunt trees were shewing interest in summer 
fashions. Madame, on these outings, insisted upon 
wearing a veil; Phyllis suggested that some grisly 
and hideous mystery in regard to her parent’s early 
days was now in danger of coming to light. 

“A flash of humour,” remarked the girl, noting 
that her mother did not smile; “that seems, alas, 
not to be reckoned amongst our successes. We must 
try again at some more favourable opportunity.” 

On one occasion in these walks, a man, intending 
probably to be nothing more than gallant, said 
“Good evening.” Madame ran away with extra- 
ordinary swiftness. Phyllis was a good companion 
on the evening strolls; her help proved especially wel- 
come at home when the anonymous communications 
began to arrive. 

Miss Warland happened to observe the first post- 
card; it had been dropped, by mistake, she said, 
into her brother’s letter-box, and she brought it 
upstairs, apologising for having read it before observ- 
ing the address, and urging Madame to take no notice 
of the unsigned message. Miss Warland remembered 
that once, on a fourteenth of February, she had been 
the recipient of a long, coloured Valentine, obviously 
meant to give pain, and had foiled the intention by 
placing it quickly in the fire. She admitted to 
an error in charging several of her girl friends with 
sending the Valentine; and this only spread the 
news far and wide, and constituted a blunder, and a 
warning. 

“You’re wise to take my advice,” said the dentist’s 
sister, as Madame tore the post-card into many small 
pieces. “A pity there aren’t more like you. My 
brother, for instance; he takes no more notice of 
what I say to him than as though I was talking in 
a foreign language. Do you think it’s the work of 
those two hussies over opposite? They’ve never 


MADAME PRINCE 


183 


got over your reception day. Fancy having a dis- 
position like that! Makes you wonder such people 
are ever born.” 

The card was followed by enclosed letters, and in 
regard to these Madame took counsel with Phyllis; 
the two agreed that the communications could not 
be shown to Georgina, and they were at one in ex- 
pressing thankfulness for Richard’s absence. Richard, 
if the facts came within his knowledge, would un- 
doubtedly have done something impulsive and mis- 
taken. The letters accused Madame of most of the 
known offences against the criminal law ; they warned 
her that unless she left the neighbourhood without 
delay, public statements would be made and then, 
said the writer, “You will have to fly for your life.” 
All the rules that affect this kind of sport were adhered 
to, with plenty of innuendoes, italicised words, and 
notes of interrogation. Madame rehearsed, with care, 
words of protest to be addressed to the two young 
women, and, when all was ready, announced her 
intention of going across High Street to get the 
difficult interview over. 

“Come and look !” begged Phyllis. 

The window opposite was empty. A wafered notice 
said : “This Shop To Let.” Inquiries made of watchful 
neighbours gained the information that the two 
ladies had departed, as usual, on the previous 
evening, evidently not on speaking terms with each 
other, and the owner of the shop had been in and taken 
possession of everything as compensation for rent due. 
High Street congratulated Madame, and said it was 
all just what might have been expected. Madame, 
not taking much account of the absence of rivalry — 
she was able now to pick and choose her customers, 
and occasionally to give a definite refusal on account 
of pressure of work — nevertheless admitted to her 
youngest daughter a feeling of relief at the impending 


184? 


MADAME PRINCE 


arrest of the annoyance caused by the unsigned 
communications. 

But they did not stop. Still bearing the post-mark 
of London, N., they continued to arrive, and it was 
decided that so soon as Richard came back, a family 
consultation should take place. Richard’s early notes 
had complained of the weather at Bognor, and of his 
own misfortune, as a junior in the City, in having 
to take a date allotted to him by seniors who had their 
eyes fixed upon August. A later card said he had 
met some interesting people at the boarding house, 
including a lady of middle age, who wrote verse 
under a pen name. All this was in the first week. 
During the second week, nothing came from Richard. 
Madame wrote to ask whether he intended to travel 
by the train he had selected from the ABC 
before leaving. No reply arrived. Madame went 
down to Victoria to meet the six-fifty; the terminus 
was in a state of reconstruction with scaffold poles 
everywhere, so that the whole place bore some resem- 
blance to an impenetrable forest. Porters told her 
the train might come in on Number Seven, adding 
that, on the other hand, it might choose some other 
platform; and Madame went to and fro amongst 
the timber obstructions with an odd feeling that 
disappointment of some kind was at hand. A train 
did come in on Number Seven, and she looked eagerly 
for the lad, prepared to give him a cheery welcome, 
and to help with the transport to the motor omnibus 
of his new suit case. Other folk were waiting; as 
passengers came through the barrier they went 
forward with joyous exclamations. 

“No, no!” said a large, imposing looking woman. 
“I’m not going to trust myself to a taxi, or to a 
hansom. I shall wait until you can find a four-wheeler.” 
One of her friends hurried away to make the necessary 
search. “If an accident occurred to me,” she went 


MADAME PRINCE 


185 


on to the rest, “my life’s work would be interfered 
with, and others would suffer besides myself.” They 
gave a purr of agreement. “Happened across a most 
interesting case down at Bognor: just one of those 
in which I find myself able to give valuable advice.” 
Porters came along with trolleys, and Madame, at 
their appeal, stood aside; the group declined to move, 
and the trolleys had to be diverted in order to avoid 
collision. 

“Do tell us about it !” 

“Oh, just a lad. A good-looking lad with aspira- 
tions in regard to literature, and some of the stuff 
he showed me, exhibiting a certain amount of promise. 
Enormously and pathetically delighted to meet me.” 

“Of course.” 

“And,” she went on impressively, “full of ambition 
that appeared to have been somewhat checked by 
discouraging surroundings at home.” 

“But what a shame !” 

“I advised him to cut himself adrift at once. I 
pointed out that the longer he left this, the more 
difficult it would be.” The four-wheeler came up; 
willing hands competed for the honour of opening 
the door. “I told him he could come round to one 
of my Sunday afternoons and report progress, but 
he was not to come unless he had carried out my 
instructions.” 

“Naturally!” 

Two fortunate people were allowed to assist her 
into the cab. “His name is Hammond Prince,” she 
said, beaming through the window space. “You 
will probably meet him at my house. Good-bye!” 

Madame, unable to move, heard the group say as 
it broke up : 

“What a marvellous woman to be sure. And so 
kind-hearted !” 

A brief note came later from Richard. He had been 


186 


MADAME PRINCE 


considering the matter of his future whilst away at 
the seaside, and it seemed to him that he would never 
be able to do his best work, amid the distractions of 
the business, and the domestic tasks at Highgate 
Village. He hoped his mother would not mind the 
trouble of packing up his books and all his other 
belongings, and forwarding them by Carter Paterson, 
to the enclosed address, where he had taken a bed 
sitting-room. Richard trusted his mother and the 
girls were keeping well, and proposed to come up 
one evening soon to make sure of this, and to hear 
the news. “I am staying on at office for the present, 
and until I can see my way to making a sufficient 
income in the other direction. Nobody has influenced 
me : I am doing it on my own. Fondest love.” 

The success of the establishment, the conversion 
of the shop over the way into the tobacco trade, 
the unsigned letters that were becoming frantic in 
their threats and warnings — all these were of small 
account compared with the lad’s resignation from 
the household. Madame went down to the City, 
called for him, and Richard came out and escorted 
her to a chattering, noisy restaurant whose continued 
existence could only be accounted for by the fact 
that it worked from twelve o’clock until two o’clock 
exclusively. There, Madame ate a meal which con- 
veyed nothing to her sense of taste, and endeavoured 
to discuss, amid the turmoil, the new situation. 
Richard was calm and self-possessed over the matter: 
he assured her his case was by no means an exception, 
remarked that his decision had received the approval 
of his colleagues. 

“No use, then, dear, in asking you to reconsider it?” 

“Not the slightest,” he answered. “And I do hope 
it won’t make any difference to the affection that 
exists between us, mother. I shall be your son, just 
the same as I have always been.” 


MADAME PRINCE 


187 


“Not quite the same,” she said. 

He insisted upon paying the bill, to her great dis- 
tress, and in saying farewell to her at the tram terminus 
near Moorgate Street station, he lifted his hat. For 
some reason this precise act of courtesy, taking the 
place of an affectionate kiss, remained in her memory, 
agitating and tormenting her. 

Madame showed such an increased energy in business 
that, at the moment following quarter day when rent 
was paid, the dentist ventured to suggest, with all 
respect and deference, that she was overdoing it. 
Mr. Warland contended it was everybody’s duty to 
be happy, and that to slave from morn till night did 
nothing to encourage this achievement. Mr. Warland, 
in filling up the receipt form and taking a long time 
over it, spoke of the good the downpour outside would 
do to gardens; and, leaving this subject, hoped that 
what he was going to say would not seem like im- 
pertinence, but was it not a fact that Madame’s hair, 
which six months ago was — if he might so express it — 
blacker than the raven’s wing, was beginning to show 
just a slight touch 

“You’re going to tell me,” said Madame, “that 
the suggestion of grey suits me, and that you know 
where I can get a bottle of something that will bring 
the old colour back.” 

The dentist assured her with great earnestness, 
that he had no such intention; it was not for him to 
meddle with the arrangement of a lady’s toilet table. 
Anything to do with the teeth, yes: anything else, 
no. All he wished to say was that it seemed to 
him the time had come when Madame might, on 
several grounds, reconsider the answer she had given 
on a former occasion. A shrill insistent cry of 
“Septimus !” came from below, and he broke off 
the conversation. “You’re wanted at once,” screamed 
his sister. “Come down directly!” He made an 


188 


MADAME PRINCE 


apology for hurried departure, promised to resume 
the discussion at the earliest possible moment. 
Madame nodded, and said there was no hurry. 
“That,” said Mr. Warland as he went, “is where 
I think you’re mistaken.” Madame heard him and 
his sister wrangling below; Miss Warland’s voice 
had good carrying powers, and she could be heard 
saying that her brother was neglecting his profession 
in order to carry on with persons old enough to know 
better; five minutes later the bass voice said, “Well, 
if you find so much to grumble about, why not go?” 
and the soprano voice answered in tones of pathos, 
“What and leave you all alone, Septimus? I simply 
couldn’t think of doing such a thing! Especially 
on a pouring wet day like this.” Madame remarked 
to her daughters that most households seemed to 
have their troubles, of one kind or another. 

“We’re having more than our due,” claimed 
Georgina. 

“No, no,” protested Madame. “A fair share. 
Nothing more.” 

“But you feel, don’t you, mother, that you’ve 
got about as much as you can endure?” 

“Don’t particularly want any more just now,” she 
admitted. Phyllis, who was near, dropped a pair 
of scissors, and gave an ejaculation of regret. 

“I’m sure,” said Georgina, content with the result 
of her questions, “that Phyllis is burning to say 
something clever on the subject.” 

“The wittiest and brainiest remark,” mentioned 
Phyllis, “which occurs to me on the spur of the moment 
is that I had intended to make some addition to 
the worries of this estimable family.” She found 
the scissors, and examined them closely. “In the cir- 
cumstances, a postponement will take place.” 

“I wish,” said Georgina, “I could understand one 
half of what you talk about.” 


MADAME PRINCE 


189 


“Even that,” remarked her .sister, “even that 
would be a liberal education.” She gazed rather 
thoughtfully at the streaming window, and Madame, 
always watchful in regard to unusual moods, asked 
whether anything was wrong, suggested that the 
weather had perhaps given her a headache. 

“No, mother dear,” she answered, recovering her 
ordinary manner. “The weather is as right as rain.” 
Miss Lilley saw the joke in less than ten minutes, 
and explained it carefully to Miss Bushell. Miss 
Bushell said she would give a thousand guineas, 
money down, to be as bright as Miss Phyllis; she 
confided the information that a certain young gentle- 
man had complained because she never, by any chance 
or any design, caused him to laugh. Miss Lilley’s 
view was that it could be looked on only as a gift, 
if you did not possess it, you had to manage without 
the best you could. 

Phyllis added to her reputation late that afternoon. 
The weather had made the number of callers few, 
and this enabled the establishment to effect good 
progress with a mourning order. (Dressmakers and 
florists are able to regard the demise of other people, 
with equanimity; to undertakers it is, of course, 
a joy which would be perfect only that outward 
signs have to be suppressed.) A note to a friend had 
to be posted before half-past five, and Phyllis, declining 
to accept her mother’s offer to go, put on mackintosh 
and rubbers, and a hat that did not matter, and set 
out to make the journey through the persistent 
downpour. Below, she was appealed to by Miss 
Warland, who, discovering Phyllis was going to the 
post office, begged that she would be so very kind 
as to obtain six pennyworth of stamps; Miss War- 
land’s beliefs did not permit her to recognise the 
existence of colds, but, as she remarked, one might 
just as well take ordinary care and refrain from 


190 


MADAME PRINCE 


venturing out in inclement conditions. Phyllis fulfilled 
the small order, and received warm thanks from the 
dentist’s sister, who spoke of the family as being 
really and absolutely the kindest hearted people 
that ever walked this earth. She counted it a privilege 
to know Madame, and her daughters, and trusted 
they would never be induced, for any reason, to leave 
Highgate Village. By the last post that night came 
catalogues from West End firms, and one of the 
anonymous communications. Phyllis secured the 
envelope in which this was contained and going 
into the kitchen, she set a kettle of water upon the 
gas-ring. 

“ Wonderful invention, steam,” she remarked to 
Aunt Emma. “Wherever should we be without it !” 

Georgina was sent off to find the stocking basket, 
but Madame would not permit her youngest daughter 
to see the latest addition to the offensive and disturbing 
notes. Apparently, it was written with a greater 
virulence than had characterised its predecessors ; 
Madame, hot with annoyance, declared that but for 
the publicity that would ensue, she felt tempted 
now to accept the advice already tendered by Phyllis, 
and call in the aid of the police. 

“This is the last one that will arrive,” announced 
Phyllis. 

“What makes you say that?” asked Madame, 
eagerly. 

Georgina’s return put a stop to the conversation. 
They spoke of the way that heels suffered, and Aunt 
Emma, coming in from the kitchen, referred to the 
excellent quality of goods sold by drapers at Maid- 
stone. 

The next morning Phyllis took a fashion journal 
as a loan to Miss Warland. Ten minutes afterwards 
she ran up and requested that her mother would 
come down: Miss Warland desired to see her. Miss 


MADAME PRINCE 


191 


Warland was found in the operating room, sobbing 
violently. 

“My brother will be here,” she wailed, “at any 
moment, and what I shall say to him, goodness only 
knows.” 

“The more important question is,” said Phyllis; 
“what are you going to say to us ?” 

“Phyllis,” warned Madame. “Speak nicely to 
Miss Warland.” 

“It was more a joke than anything else,” pleaded 
the tearful lady. “And I should never have gone 
on with it if I’d thought there was any chance of 
being found out.” 

“That,” said Phyllis, “ will be a capital excuse to 
offer to the magistrate at the North London Police 
Court.” 

Miss Warland flung herself upon her knees and 
begged Madame to take control of the affair out of 
her daughter’s hands. Miss Phyllis was young and 
did not understand : Madame, being middle-aged, 
would make allowances. Madame requested to be 
supplied with information, and it was from Phyllis 
that she ascertained the particulars. Phyllis, having 
her suspicions, had marked the stamps purchased for 
Miss Warland, and the stamp of the latest communica- 
tion bore this mark. The dentist’s sister, faced with 
the simple proof, had confessed herself to be the writer 
of all the letters, and now pleaded that her promise 
to send no more ought to be sufficient for any reason- 
ably minded woman. 

“But why did you do it, you silly person?” 
inquired Madame. “Get up and leave off snivelling.” 

“Don’t be unkind,” urged the other, obeying the 
instructions. “It’s hard enough for me to bear 
without you making it worse. And, of course, you 
can guess as well as I can, why I did it. If Septimus 
gets married, there isn’t one of my other six brothers 


192 


MADAME PRINCE 


who’ll have anything to do with me, and I shall be 
alone in the world.” 

“1 wouldn’t marry Mr. Warland,” retorted Madame 
sharply, “and I wouldn’t marry anybody.” 

“In that case,” said the other, self sympathetically, 
“I seem to have given myself all this trouble for 
nothing. You might, at least, have mentioned it to 
me before !” 

The dentist arriving, and being placed in possession 
of the details, upbraided his sister in good round 
terms, and agreed with Phyllis that here was a matter 
for the Y division. To their astonishment, and to 
the great relief of Miss Warland, this procedure was 
at once vetoed by Madame. She admitted the com- 
munications had given her a considerable amount of 
pain, but pointed out that knowledge of them had 
been limited to the group now assembled. Her 
daughter argued against this tolerant attitude ; 
Madame refused to change her decision. Mr. Warland 
called the attention of his penitent sister to the fact 
that she had been concerned in a similar case, but in 
a different neighbourhood in the year ’97; on that 
occasion each brother had been compelled to put down 
a ten-pound note in order to stop legal proceedings, 
and had endured the irritation of seeing the total 
sum handed over to a society for whose work they 
had no feeling but that of strenuous antagonism. 
Phyllis contended that the least Miss Warland could 
do would be to go away from Highgate Village; it 
appeared that the six brothers were married, and their 
respective wives, not agreed in all matters, were 
unanimous so far as concerned a stolid objection to 
the presence in their houses of Miss Warland. The 
dentist ordered that his sister should write a full 
apology, and this the lady did. She was directed to 
give a solemn promise that she would never again be 
guilty of a grievous fault of the kind, and Miss War- 


MADAME PRINCE 


193 


land, after pleading that this was asking a good deal of 
any woman, complied with reluctance. 

“Whether you know it or not,” said the dentist, 
severely, “you’ve done just about the unkindest thing 
in the world for me.” 

“As a matter of fact,” she declared, “I was thinking 
more of your interests than my own. That’s always 
been my fault; too considerate for other people.” 

“Madame,” said Mr. Warland. “A word with you, 
please, in the reception room.” 

“You were very bitter,” complained Miss Warland 
to Phyllis, when they were left alone. “I gave you 
credit for having a nicer disposition.” 

“For that blunder, no excuse can be found.” 

“But you needn’t hold your head so high, miss. 
I’d found something concerning you, and if I’d been 
allowed to write one more note, I should have been 
able to throw a pretty bomb-shell into your household. 
Unfortunately, Providence intervened.” 

“It was I who stepped in,” remarked Phyllis 
coolly; “not Providence. Can’t allow anyone else 
to share the honour.” 

“A pretty word for a girl like you to use. Honour, 
indeed !” Miss Warland gave a short satirical laugh. 

“Authorities have decided,” mentioned the other, 
“that the initial letter of the word is not to be 
aspirated.” 

The relief of apprehensiveness concerning the post 
brought back vivacity to Madame ; Aunt Emma 
expressed envy, but argued as usual in her own defence 
that some people had everything to make them happy 
whilst others — amongst whom she included herself — 
in looking around could find nothing to justify cheer- 
fulness. Aunt Emma, in her anxiety to keep up this 
appropriate manner, refused to allow herself to be 
taken to the Marlborough Theatre, or to the Holloway 


194 


MADAME PRINCE 


Empire, or to watch lawn tennis, or to stroll through 
Highgate Wood; when in the late autumn an invi- 
tation came from Ethel begging the entire party to 
come to a concert and dance to be held in the interests 
of a county association of which P. H. was a member, 
then Aunt Emma said promptly: “You all go, my 
loves: I’ll stay at home and think over my troubles.’’ 
Ethel hoped that nothing would be allowed to prevent 
her people from accepting the invitation, and would 
Phyllis mind bringing some songs — “Just in case.” 
P. H. had charge of the musical arrangements, and 
had secured promises of assistance, but the drawback 
in getting professional folk to give their services free 
was that if they found a paid engagement came along 
for the evening, why they threw you over, without 
any hesitation, and left you, so to speak, in the lurch. 
P. H. was having a somewhat anxious time with the 
new business, and his present desire was to become 
acquainted and to get on good terms with a large 
number of people who might be willing to make them- 
selves useful to him. “Seven-fifteen sharp, King’s 
Hall, Holborn Restaurant ; and please dress as smartly 
as you can, for P. H.’s sake.” Phyllis said that this 
last argument, so far as she was concerned, might 
be looked upon as irresistible. Georgina hoped that 
members of her own sex would not be there in ex- 
cessive proportion ; more than once a dance had meant 
for her only a place on a rout seat, and the support 
of the wall. 

Ethel was waiting for them, on the evening, in the 
vestibule, and after first swift inspection gave a nod 
of approval. Other guests stood about defensively, 
wearing a grim look to conceal shyness; Ethel, it 
appeared, had met some of them before, and now 
went around with her relatives, introducing them 
and everywhere contriving to mention her husband, 
and the extraordinary success attending him in business 


MADAME PRINCE 


195 


life. One or two youths on being presented to Phyllis, 
came out of the perturbation created by finding them- 
selves in evening dress, and offered to sit next to 
her during the concert ; she evaded these gallant 
offers, and the young men, said rather sulkily : 

“Oh, all right! If you won’t, you won’t!” 

Peter Hilborough dashed in, papers in hand, to 
ask whether the Member of Parliament had arrived; 
someone was able to say that he had been seen, but 
had disappeared. Hilborough, before taking up the 
chase afresh, came across to the group and asked 
after their health. And would Miss Phyllis oblige 
him very much by going along to the artistes’ room: 
her help would certainly be required. And, yes, of 
course, Miss Georgina too, as accompanist. So very 
good of them both to be here. 

The Member of Parliament was brought by a 
successful stalker, who reported that his prey had 
been caught in the act of making for the cloak-room 
to obtain hat and overcoat. The member explained. 
When he lent his aid and his patronage to an affair 
of the kind, he did not wish for a tremendous amount 
of fuss, but he did expect, and felt he had a right to 
expect, to be treated with something like fair con- 
sideration. It interested Madame, looking on, to note 
her son-in-law’s adroit treatment of the difficulty; 
she was reminded of Ethel’s tactfulness in dealing 
with small crises at a time when the family was 
young. Ethel herself stood by now, unconsciously 
smiling approval as P. H. disarmed the complainant 
by taking all the blame, and by urging that other folk 
should not be punished for his fault. The Member 
of Parliament, appeased, said that a little forethought 
would have prevented the disaster. Hilborough 
declared it would be a lesson to him, and the other 
then remarked graciously that, being, as he hoped, 
the most reasonable man at present on this earth, his 


196 


MADAME PRINCE 


only desire was that everything should work smoothly, 
for the benefit and comfort of all concerned. 
By this time gentlemen representing the committee 
had been collected and brought; Peter Hilborough 
introduced them individually to the great man, with, 
in each case, a few descriptive and complimentary 
words. Ethel took her mother into the hall. 

“You wonderful child!” whispered Madame. 

“It was worth doing,” remarked Ethel. 

“Does he never show his old manner?” 

“Very rarely. And when he does, he’s so sorry 
about it afterwards. As I remind him, good behaviour 
counts for such a lot nowadays.” 

The chairman had so far regained amiability that, 
in taking his place and rising to make his introductory 
remarks, he used a sentence of welcome, unintelligible 
to many, but recognised by some as being given in 
the accents of their native county; no quotation from 
the classics would have been one-half so successful. 
The knowing ones, roaring with delight, explained 
for the benefit of the ignorant; the phrase, put into 
understandable English, was, it appeared, “Make 
yourself at home: I am, and I wish you were!” 
It seemed likely that some of the wit and pungency 
of the original had disappeared in course of translation. 
Anyway, reserve broke down, genial smiles appeared 
in the place of dignified frowns, and the member’s 
wife coming in at the close of the speech 

“Keep the doors closed please,” ordered the chair- 
man curtly, “until I’ve finished. Oh, I beg your 
pardon, dearest. Didn’t know it was you.” 

—The lady was able to listen to the tremendous 
cheering that went up when the chairman, flushed 
and contented, sat down. Peter Hilborough con- 
ducted her to the front row where Madame and Ethel 
were seated. 

“Why, bless my soul,” cried the chairman’s wife, 


MADAME PRINCE 


197 


“it's you!” Madame admitted this to be a state- 
ment of fact. “Don’t say you’ve forgotten Flora 
Smith!” 

“You’re not going to tell me you are the one we 
used to call ” 

“Hush,” she begged. “He doesn’t know what a 
one I was for the young chaps in those Wigmore 
Street days. It’s all past and over now. Lord, but 
I am glad to see you !” 

She was a comfortable looking woman, expensively 
dressed, but Madame thought her not quite well 
dressed ; Madame wanted as they talked between 
the items of the programme, to give a hint or two 
that would have been appropriate enough in the 
showroom at Highgate Village, but might, she knew, 
be resented here. The chairman followed up his early 
success by, in announcing names, making play upon 
them. He scored a conspicuous triumph in the case 
of a banjo player called Lover, and a reciter called 
Bacon offered him a task for which, to the unbounded 
delight of his admiring wife, he proved capable. 
“Wish,” she confided to Madame, “wish he was as 
merry at home as he is when he’s out.” It appeared 
they married when he was a clerk in a Government 
office; at that time their positions in life had been 
about equal. “Since then,” whispered the lady, 

“he’s got on like a house afire, and I well, to 

tell you the truth, I’ve stayed about where I was. 
Rough on him, perhaps, but it can’t be helped!” 
The chairman became slightly dispirited in encounter- 
ing one or two names that did not lend themselves 
to humorous treatment; he brightened in coming 
across a favourable opportunity. 

After Phyllis had given her song, he remarked that 
the Princess who had just appeared would, he hoped, 
never be smothered in the Tower. The general view 
of the audience was that he might think of many 


198 


MADAME PRINCE 


more jokes during the remainder of the evening, but 
it was scarcely to be expected he would beat this. 

“Do you know,” said his wife to Madame, “you’ll 
think it’s a silly thing for me to say, but that good- 
looking girl did so remind me of what you were like 
in the times we’ve been talking about.” Madame 
explained. 

“Nonsense!” cried the member’s wife, in compli- 
mentary tones. “How many are there besides her?” 

Madame was talking vivaciously of Richard when 
the concert finished, and the hall was cleared for the 
dance. Cards were taken round by Peter Hilborough 
and his assistants ; young men began to eye the 
ladies and appraise them before making an offer; 
the ladies affecting to ignore this, and becoming greatly 
interested in bracelets. Phyllis accepted her pro- 
gramme and tore it in two pieces; Georgina inquired 
whether she had suddenly gone mad. Youths came 
in her direction with a jaunty air that vanished 
when Phyllis replied that she was not dancing. 

“Corns?” asked one, solicitously. 

“No,” she answered, “sentiment.” 

Georgina, content to find her card initialled by 
those rejected by her sister, begged for information. 
Phyllis said she did not care to be so close to strangers 
as a waltz necessitated. Georgina pointed out that 
this objection had not been previously raised, and 
her sister ordered that no further questions should 
be put. 

* “He is going in for literature,” said Madame 
proudly to the member’s wife, “and I’m certain he 
is clever enough to succeed. Richard has plenty of 
self-confidence.” The member’s wife said this was 
half the battle. 

A youth, his bowler hat under the arm, came near 
to them, a memorandum book in his hand; his coat 
collar turned up at one side. A committee man, 


MADAME PRINCE 


199 


giving the particulars asked for, said he ought, by 
rights, to see Mr. Hilborough. “I have a special 
reason for not wishing to see him,” remarked the 
youth. “You can tell me everything I want.” 
Madame, glancing at the shabby figure, thought that 
newspaper men should have the sense not to intrude 
upon select assemblies. 

“Richard!” she cried, suddenly. She noticed in 
going to him that his necktie was faded, no cuffs 
were showing. 

“Don’t disturb yourself,” he said. “I’m only 
reporting this for a provincial journal. Go back to 
your chair, there’s a good mother. Tell Phyllis she 
shall have a notice !” 

There occurred near to this time an incident 
that encouraged Madame to wish her good-looking 
daughter might — in the popular phrase — marry and 
settle down. Phyllis sometimes came home from a 
walk, Hampstead way, bringing recitals of encounters 
with young men who desired to enter upon terms of 
friendship without the usual preliminaries of introduc- 
tion; she gave the incidents composedly, whilst her 
mother listened with perturbed features, and Georgina 
gave open-eyed attention. Madame noticed that when 
she happened to be Phyllis’s companion out of doors, 
youths engaged in vivacious conversation in regard 
to cricket, or some other absorbing topic, ceased 
talking and gazed, as with respectful adoration, 
offering frank comments ere they had gone out of 
hearing. 

“By Jove, a tip-topper, and no mistake!” 

“Did you notice her eyes, old man ? My word !” 

“Je-rusalem, but a natty piece of goods.” 

If Madame made some indignant allusion to these 
compliments, Phyllis suggested that in this world 
you should gently scan your brother man. 


200 


MADAME PRINCE 


“If ever you are annoyed by them when you are 
alone, be sure to call for a constable.” 

“I did that once,” said the girl, “and before the 
incident was over the policeman made me a perfectly 
honourable but somewhat disturbing offer of marriage. 
I had to say that I was already engaged to an inspector 
of the division.” 

“Not a bad idea,” remarked Madame. 

“So I thought, until he told me that all of his 
inspectors happened to be wedded men. However, we 
parted on good terms. At least, I did.” 

The matter of Phyllis and Mr. Blythe began with 
a chance encounter. 

Mr. Blythe appeared at the side door in High Street 
one evening, in a heavy downpour of rain that as he 
prepared, after accepting thanks, to go, took on 
some of the characteristics of a severe thunderstorm. 
Phyllis, whom he had courteously protected with his 
umbrella from the tramcar terminus, urged him to 
remain until the weather showed a calmer aspect. 
Madame came down the staircase and Phyllis ex- 
plained. Mr. Blythe, a grave middle-aged man, 
said the task had been so easy, and so pleasant, 
that any acknowledgment made him feel in debt. 
Phyllis was sent up by her mother to change shoes: 
Mr. Blythe and Madame chatted amicably on such 
non-committal subjects as floriculture. The rain 
finished its outburst of temper. A taxi-cab went by, 
and Mr. Blythe engaged it. 

He called the following evening with a bouquet of 
the flowers to which Madame had given approval 
in the brief discussion, and he begged that Madame 
would bring her two daughters on the next Sunday 
afternoon to see his garden. Madame was not certain 
whether engagements would permit of this, but de- 
clared herself grateful for the invitation. Phyllis, 
later, expressed the hope that her mother did not 


MADAME PRINCE 


201 


intend to play fast and loose with a heart at least 
forty-five years old, beating under a fancy waistcoat 
that was obviously new. A dressy chap, Phyllis con- 
sidered, and moreover a brainy lad, able to cap an 
allusion with anyone; she pointed out that a slight 
tendency to baldness was nothing against the gentle- 
man’s moral character, and, if he kept his hat on, 
scarcely noticeable. At half-past three on the Sunday, 
when the family was about to make way to Waterlow 
Park, a carriage drew up in High Street. Mr. Blythe’s 
compliments, said the coachman, and would the 
ladies like the carriage to be open or closed ? 

“Hope he won’t expect me to talk,” said Georgina 
as the horses started. 

“Fear not, my Sphinx,” said Phyllis. “All the 
gent’s attentions will be concentrated upon our 
fascinating parent.” 

It was soon made evident that the middle-aged Mr. 
Blythe regarded Phyllis as his chief guest. 
Her, he took through conservatories ; for her he picked 
the ripe bigareau cherries; to her he gave on the 
lawn the task of pouring out tea, sitting back the 
while in a deck chair and regarding her with frank 
admiration. The large house appeared to be run by 
men servants ; Mr. Blythe told Madame that he found 
them more reliable than women so far as domestic 
duties were concerned. In his flannel suit, and on 
a day of freedom from business, he seemed younger 
than before. 

“I expected,” said Madame, after watching care- 
fully for disclosure of information, “I half expected 
to have the pleasure of seeing Mrs. Blythe.” 

“My mother,” he answered, “is an invalid. She 
will very much regret her ill fortune in not seeing 
you.” 

They played at bowls after tea, Mr. Blythe taking 
special pains in teaching Phyllis how to get through 


202 


MADAME PRINCE 


obstacles, and reach near to the Jack. He mentioned 
rather pointedly that he rode on the Heath every 
morning, before setting off for the City, and remarked, 
with his elaborate manner of speech, that equestrian 
exercise was the best thing in the world for folk en- 
gaged in sedentary occupations. Phyllis said that 
she once pinched her fingers in endeavouring to make 
a rocking-horse perform some circus tricks, and the 
accident constituted a warning. 

“The theatre, then,” he suggested. Phyllis de- 
clared she had witnessed every play that could be 
reckoned worth seeing. 

Mr. Blythe took Madame apart before they left and 
spoke candidly. He had rarely met anyone who had 
impressed him so deeply as Miss Phyllis had done. 
He trusted that the friendship, thus fortunately 
begun, would develop into sincere affection. He 
spoke of himself as being comfortably off, and able 
to make good provision for Madame’s daughter. 
“But you’re twice her age!” argued Madame. Mr. 
Blythe could not deny this, did not wish to deny it, 
but contended that Miss Phyllis might be one willing 
to take the companionship of maturity. “I must make 
some inquiries about you,” said Madame. Mr. Blythe 
agreed. Anyone in St. Swithin’s Lane, City, would, 
he believed, be prepared to speak an approving 
word for him. “Have you lived here long?” Mr. 
Blythe had lived here about a year. “And where did 
you reside before that?” inquired Madame. On the 
other side of London, he answered. Madame, whilst 
considering the reply wanting in detail, put no further 
questions but said she would think the matter over. 
“At your earliest convenience,” he suggested. “When 
a man of my age falls in love, he is not disposed to lose 
time. In other words, he feels somewhat prone to 
resent anything like unnecessary delay.” Madame 
indicated that she understood. 


MADAME PRINCE 


203 


She was quiet on the way home, and Phyllis rallied 
her with being overcome by the impressive entertain- 
ment of the afternoon ; suggested that, in the presence 
of Mr. Blythe’s coachman, they should all affect 
to be composed and indifferent. To the coachman, 
Madame spoke at High Street, after sending the girls 
upstairs. 

“A capital pair of horses.” 

“Not bad, lady.” 

“Do they find the hills trying?” 

“I believe not, lady.” 

“Of course,” remarked Madame, casually, “on 
the south side of the river, the roads are much less 
difficult.” 

“I have to my knowledge,” declared the coach- 
man, with sudden reticence, “never greatly frequented 
that part of London.” 

“But Mr. Blythe used to live there.” 

“You probably know more about the matter, lady, 
than what I do.” 

The discussion would have had no result of value 
if Madame had not happened to mention, in referring 
to the dampness of the current month, the magic word 
rheumatism ; several of her customers, she re- 
marked, were complaining. At once the coach- 
man threw off reserve and spoke with enthusiasm, and 
indeed with pride of his wife’s sufferings from this 
complaint. He doubted whether any woman ever 
encountered shoulder pains like to those endured by 
his wife. He was prepared to back this opin- 
ion to the extent of five bob. The coachman gave, in 
detail, his own industrious efforts in home treatment; 
the hours he sacrificed to the rubbing in of liniments, 
of spirits, of salad oil, of — in his own words — every- 
thing something. Madame knew of a treatment, lately 
adopted by one of her customers, and said to have 
been found useful where all else had failed. The 


MADAME PRINCE 


204 


coachman said it was asking a lot, he wondered at 
his own cheek in making the request, he hoped to be 
forgiven if, in doing so, he overstepped the bounds, 
but would it be possible to secure the name of this 
remedy, or a sample of it, or a mere hint where it 
could be purchased? Madame promised to make full 
inquiries and a purchase: if the coachman fur- 
nished his address, she would call and leave the bottle. 
The other, complying, declared himself ever so much 
obliged, touched his hat several times, said that his 
missus enjoyed a talk as much as most women, and 
would particularly relish a chat with an intelligent 
party like Madame. He touched his hat again and 
drove off. 

“It’s got to be done,” remarked Madame to herself, 
determinedly. “Can’t leave anything to chance, where 
a girl of mine is concerned.” In the sitting-room, 
Georgina was sketching out Sundays of the immediate 
future that included lunch, tea, and dinner at the 
house of Mr. Blythe, where her sister would act as 
hostess and present Georgina with hats that were no 
longer required. 

On the Monday afternoon, Madame excused herself 
from business and called with a parcel at Finchley. 
The coachman’s wife received her with an aloof man- 
ner, and hinted at once that whilst the rheu- 
matism of other people might lend itself to discipline, 
her rheumatism was of the acute nature that defies 
remedies; all the same she accepted the bottle and 
promised to give the contents a fair trial. It would 
be something, admitted the coachman’s wife, if she 
found herself able to lift her right arm without giving 
a scream of anguish. Madame offered to teach 
the correct manner of application, and rubbed hard at 
the shoulder for twenty minutes by the clock, giving 
advice the while. No beer (the coachman’s wife uttered 
a shrill protest) ; plenty of outdoor exercise (the 


MADAME PRINCE 


205 


coachman’s wife argued that a woman’s place was her 
home) ; all meat to be minced before eaten (the coach- 
man’s wife declared you might as well take her off to 
the cemetery at once, and have done with it). She 
admitted, at the end of the treatment, and in putting 
on her blouse, that this was the first time for years 
that she herself had buttoned this garment; she 
felt a great mind to take the bull by the horns and 
do her hair, a project to which Madame gave approval 
and advice. The coachman’s wife, touched by com- 
pliments on the improvement in her appearance, an- 
swered questions readily. 

“I used to be at Mr. Blythe’s house, ma’am, when 
he lived at Norwood. That was reelly how my old 
man got the berth as coachman. As I of’en tell him, 
he’s got me to thank. I was half parlour maid, and 
half lady’s maid.” 

“To Mr. Blythe’s mother?” 

“Dear me, no! To Mr. Blythe’s wife. A peculiar 
lady, but I got along very well with her. To tell you 
the truth, I was sent away because I was caught 
smuggling spirits into the house. Then, having noth- 
ing to do, I was fool enough to think about getting 
married.” 

“I didn’t know Mr. Blythe was a widower.” 

“He isn’t !” remarked the coachman’s wife. 

Madame found an hour later, a turning off Cannon 
Street, so narrow that the presence of one wagon 
arrested the ambition of any other vehicular traffic 
to effect a short cut, compelled pedestrians to flatten 
themselves against shop windows. Blythe Brothers 
occupied a first floor with offices handsomely furnished, 
clerks going about their work quietly, a general atmos- 
phere of content and success. The clerk at the counter 
who accepted Madame’s inquiry, begged her to be 
seated : he would take her name in. This he did and 
returned at once with three male callers who promised 


206 


MADAME PRINCE 


to call again at a more convenient moment. Madame 
was escorted to the door of Mr. Blythe’s room. 

“This is excellent,” cried that gentleman heartily. 
“This is the best of dealing with an experienced 
woman, possessing business capacities. I count myself 
fortunate.” He touched the bell. “Go out and get 
tea,” he ordered to the clerk who answered. “Tea 
for two.” 

“Tea for one,” corrected Madame. 

“What is my grievous fault,” he asked with elabor- 
ate humour, “that I should be deprived of my favourite 
beverage?” The clerk, at a sign from him, went. 

“Your grievous fault,” said Madame, steadily, “is 
that you omitted yesterday to inform me that you 
were already married.” 

“How — how did you find out?” 

“That doesn’t matter. What does matter is that 
I have succeeded in finding it out. And all I want to 
ask you is, what on earth do you mean by talking to 
me about a sincere affection for my daughter when you 
have a wife alive?” Madame’s voice shook. “Do 
you think I have so little regard for my dear child 
that I am going to tolerate an impertinence of that 
kind? Upon my word, if I were a man, I’d hit 
you !” 

The clerk brought in the tray, and placed it on the 
table. Mr. Blythe, with an unsteady hand, poured 
out a cup of tea and brought it to Madame; she made 
a gesture of definite refusal, and the cup and the saucer 
fell on the carpet. 

“If you were a man,” he pleaded, “perhaps you’d 
exhibit more sympathy for my position.” 

“More sympathy, you say,” cried Madame, with 
a catch of the breath. “I’m not showing any. I’m 
not going to show any.” 

“My wife drinks,” he explained. “Drinks heavily. 
She may die soon.” 


MADAME PRINCE 


207 


“You wait until that happens before you dare 
to ” 

“I could arrange a divorce,” he pleaded. “That 
was what I intended to do. If I increased her separa- 
tion allowance, she would agree to it.” 

“And my Phyllis was to be mixed up in an affair 
of that kind! Mr. Blythe, you don’t know what a 
mother’s pride is in her children. You can’t realise 
how much they mean to her.” Madame rose and 
leaned across the table, her chin out resolutely. 
“Your co.de of behaviour doesn’t agree with mine. 
Keep out of my way, in future, or I won’t answer for 
the consequences.” 

“There is no necessity,” he urged, “to adopt the 
language of melodrama.” 

“There’s no other language to be used when a man 
behaves like a villain in melodrama.” 

“Think it all over quietly, and call on me again.” 

“It would be a bad day for you, indeed,” retorted 
Madame defiantly, “if I had to call here again !” 

She took time in an underground restaurant to 
compose herself. Remembering the neighbourhood, 
she went later to call at the insurance office to see 
Richard. 


CHAPTER NINE 


M R. PRINCE, said a head clerk there, had, 
at first, given every satisfaction; seemed 
to take an interest in his work, was popular 
with his colleagues. Presently gave signs of restive- 
ness. Exhibited to one of his neighbours at the desk, 
a long communication from a lady who was taking 
an interest in him; the letter, of several pages, gave 
historical references to distinguished men who had 
dared, in their early youth, to encounter hardships, 
and to take the risk of failure. Perhaps Mr. Prince’s 
mother would like to see Dickson to whom this 
information had been confided? Whilst a message 
was being conveyed, the head clerk remarked that 
young Prince’s resignation surprised him, because in 
these days, lads with ambition in regard to the arts, 
generally had the sense to stay on at office work until 
they were in a position to dispense with the income 
that the City supplied. 

“He ought to have consulted you.” 

“We mustn’t be too hard on him,” pleaded Madame. 
“What I hoped was that I might be able to find out 
where he is living.” 

“You’ll discover him,” suggested the other, “in 
some garret, pretending to enjoy the experience 
of poverty.” 

“I want a fuller address than that,” she said. 
Richard’s chum appearing, took Madame to a comer 
of the room and said at once that he feared he was 
not able to give useful particulars. Richard had taken 
208 


MADAME PRINCE 


209 


a room in Milman Street, Bloomsbury, and from there 
wrote a farewell letter to his acquaintances in the 
office. Dickson, it appeared, called some time later 
and ascertained that Richard had left. The woman 
in charge of the house declared she did not know his 
present whereabouts, hinted that if the information 
had been in her possession, she would not have dis- 
closed it. Richard’s chum was very sorry he could 
not give better assistance; at Madame’ s request 
he typed an envelope bearing Richard’s name, and 
a slip of paper with the sentence, “From a well-wisher.” 
In the envelope, Madame placed two five-pound notes, 
and Dickson sealed the flap, without giving any im- 
press that might betray the sender. 

Madame set out upon her search. In Milman Street, 
she found the contentious landlady, and soothing talk 
on the subject of the difficulty in choosing lodgers 
elicited the fact that the rent had been left ten shillings 
in arrears. This small financial matter settled, the 
woman became more communicative, speaking of 
herself as a mother, and once acquainted with a moth- 
er’s feelings, and eventually said that, to the best of 
her knowledge, the young fellow had gone from 
Milman Street to Judd Street, right away up near St. 
Pancras station ; she admitted, after some further con- 
versation, that this was no mere guess, but a statement 
of fact, ascertained from a lady lodger who was in the 
habit of getting about, and of keeping her eyes open. 
The informant had seen Mr. Prince about to enter 
the house in Judd Street, and complained bitterly 
that, on passing the time of day, he glanced at her as 
though she did not exist. 

“I reelly blame her,” said the landlady, confi- 
dentially, “for me having lost him. She was always 
wanting to cackle, cackle, cackle, and I think it’s quite 
likely the young fellow got frightened of her. And 
whilst I think of it, ma’am ; it wasn’t ten bob that was 


210 


MADAME PRINCE 


due. Only five. And I’m much obliged to you for 
calling and settling up, for I’m sure that in these hard 
times ” 

Judd Street said the young chap found the rent 
too much for him, and had moved to Stibbington 
Street, Somers Town. Stibbington Street said the 
gentleman had one room there, but was, just now, 
away for a few days. Madame, after some hesitation, 
decided not to hand over the envelope to Stibbington 
Street; instead, she found the police station in Platt 
Street, explained the circumstances to a friendly in- 
spector who, after saying, with bitterness, “Whatever 
shall we be called upon to do next, I wonder !” agreed 
to take charge of it, and to get one of his 
men, on the excuse of having found the envelope 
near the steps of Old St. Pancras Church, to deliver 
it direct to the recipient, at the earliest opportunity. 
And furthermore to send a card to Madame to say 
this had been done. 

“Good of you to help me,” she said. 

“It’s what we’re here for,” remarked the inspector. 
She found a post-card in her bag and addressed it. 
“Well, I’m jiggered!” he said. 

“Why?” 

“All the while you’ve been talking,” he declared, 
“I’ve been trying to fix you in my mind. I used to 
live down in Kent where you were brought up. I 
was somewhat partial at one time to a young sister 
of yours, whose name I ought to remember but I 
can’t.” 

Madame prompted. 

“That’s right,” agreed the inspector. “Flora, and 
she took up with a rather flashy sort of individual. 
At least, so I thought him; but I might have been 
prejudiced.” 

“You must be a brother of David.” 

“Right again ! He stayed down there, and I 


MADAME PRINCE 


211 


came up here, and now see the difference between 
us. Shows you what London can do, doesn’t it?” 

“London can be kind, and London can be cruel. 
That’s why I’m anxious about this boy of mine.” 
The inspector promised to give a hint to one of his 
plain clothes men. Any particulars obtained to be 
at once sent on to Highgate Village. 

The promised card arrived at the end of the week, 
and Madame was able to feel that Richard would be 
in a position to visit a tailor, and to offer an improved 
appearance to the world. She held strong views on 
the value of dress, and the help it afforded to self- 
respect, and, in acquainting Phyllis with the circum- 
stances, enforced the argument. “ ’Vous etes orfevre, 
M’sieu Josse,” quoted Phyllis. Madame spoke hope- 
fully of the time when her youngest daughter would 
accompany her on a trip to the capital town of France, 
and act as useful and ready interpreter. Phyllis 
mentioned that she would like to go abroad for her 
next holiday and, referring to Mr. Cook, of Ludgate 
Circus, as a gentleman of helpful disposition, said 
that one could always choose companions from 
fellow passengers. 

David, making one of his rare visits in the spring, 
called and announced that a set of racing stables had 
been built near to the village, and that the master had 
gone slap bang into the job, full tilt, head foremost. 
Called upon by the agitated Aunt Emma to give 
further details, David explained that the master now 
attended race meetings at Wye, at Folkestone, and 
so far away as Lingfield and Brighton. The news gave 
almost as much perturbation to Madame as to her 
sister. She pictured quickly the situation where 
she would be called upon to produce Aunt Emma’s 
money, and thus save the farm from being sold up 
for the benefit of creditors. It in no way helped to 


MADAME PRINCE 


212 


be told by David that the master was having the luck 
of old Harry himself ; indeed, the comparison caused 
the two women to shiver. David brought other news, 
but none of such importance. The family grave was 
looking first class. A young girl, out Blicton way, 
had got herself into trouble. The vicar was setting 
candles on the altar, and there was a deuce and all 
of an upset about it, and no mistake; David’s view 
was that for brightening and livening up a country 
district there could be nothing equal to religious 
folk at loggerheads with each other. For the rest, 
a shopkeeper had married the nurse of his late wife, 
without allowing what the village considered a proper 
space of time between the two ceremonies, and the 
hullabaloo called horn fair, wherein the deeply shocked 
residents made clamorous noises with shovels and 
pans, and other musical instruments, had taken place 
outside the grocer’s establishment. 

“They always did enjoy their little bit of scandal 
down there,” said Madame. 

“We make the most we can of it,” admitted David. 
“Gives us the idea that we’re somewhat better than 
what other people are.” 

“They was baulked of it, once upon a time,” said 
Aunt Emma reminiscently. 

“Hush!” ordered Madame. “We don’t want to 
rake up the past.” 

She was called away to the showroom to attend to 
no less a visitor than Mrs. Mirfield, wife of the Member 
of Parliament encountered at the Holborn Restaurant, 
and now come, according to promise, to give Madame 
what she described alternatively as a leg up, and 
the honour of her patronage. The lady, after confiden- 
tial chat about old days, approached the subject of 
fashion, and Georgina was presently called to take 
down measurements, and hand pins. The new customer 
was not quite in full dress when David entered the 


MADAME PRINCE 


ns 


room to find Madame, and to say good-bye to her; 
his painful confusion and hurried departure sent 
Mrs. Mirfield into a state of extraordinary enjoyment, 
and before leaving she placed orders to the amount 
of close upon thirty pounds. 

“And if you can satisfy me/’ she said, “ — and 
mind you that’s no easy matter — why you’ll be able 
to satisfy my friends. Lady Chard, for instance; 
she’s had a rare old squabble with her woman. You 
don’t know her, I expect ?” 

“I’ve come across the name,” said Madame. 

“There’s an excuse for her just now,” went on the 
other. “Her only son is going to get married. It’s 
supposed to be a secret, but she told me.” 

Madame glanced around. Phyllis had luckily 
gone downstairs, providing a safe escort to the contrite 
and apologetic David. “Trying times,” she said, 
“when your one boy leaves you. I’ve had the ex- 
perience, and I know what it’s like.” 

Mrs. Mirfield returned in the course of a few days 
in the company not of Lady Chard (who, it appeared, 
had left suddenly for the country, and without inform- 
ing Mrs. Mirfield, and could therefore no longer be 
called a friend), but bringing two ladies of responsible 
position, and with many good qualities amongst 
which taste, and a sense of colour were not included. 
With these, Madame spent a strenuous morning, 
fighting against suggestions that she considered likely 
to prove unsatisfactory, and eventually persuading 
the visitors to accept her advice. Mrs. Mirfield said 
a word of compliment to Georgina, describing her 
as one of the few girls who did not talk overmuch. 
This agreeable inrush of commissions caused Madame 
to put forward to her youngest daughter a recom- 
mendation that the Continental holiday should be post- 
poned. Phyllis pointed out that, with her own money 
she had bought the green cardboard book of travelling 


214 


MADAME PRINCE 


tickets, and assured her mother that Ludgate Circus 
would sneer at the idea of altering dates. Wherefore, 
Madame withdrew her amendment and visited the 
Labour Bureau, and the building occupied by the 
Y.W.C. Association, and saw many candidates, and 
favoured none of them. Finally, an advertisement, 
“Second Wanted,” appeared in the local journal. 

“It sounds, I know, as though I was being over- 
adventurous,” confessed Madame to her sister; 
“but I shall only take her for a month on trial, and 
these people won’t like it if there’s any delay in 
carrying out their orders. And, you see,” argumenta- 
tively, but as though desirous of persuading herself, 
“I can’t expect my two remaining girls to stay with 
me always. They’re bound to go at some time or 
other.” 

“If they’re lucky,” mentioned Aunt Emma. 

On the night before Phyllis left for her holiday, 
Madame observed in the evening newspaper a snapshot 
of a scene outside the registrar’s office. It did not 
represent one of photography’s highest triumphs, but 
the title underneath, “A Baronet’s Wedding,” and 
another sentence describing the bridegroom as a 
grandson of the well-known king of industry, pro- 
vided illumination. Sir Ernest was facing the camera 
indifferently : his bride held her head down. Madame 
bunched up the journal. 

“It isn’t worth while,” she said to herself, “to 
spoil the dear girl’s trip. Let her find out about 
her disappointment when she comes back.” She 
nodded her head with the manner of one whose 
anticipations had been confirmed. In bidding Phyllis 
good-bye in the morning, she kissed the girl with 
more than ordinary fervour, and Phyllis, herself com- 
posed and serene, looked at her mother curiously, 
but put no question. 

In the well-occupied two weeks that followed, it 


MADAME PRINCE 


215 


was noticed that one or two post-cards only came 
from abroad, with a pencilled line sending favour- 
able news concerning the weather. A Miss Fox was 
selected from a number of young women replying to 
the advertisement : she did not carry youthfulness 
to excess, and her manner, once she was allowed to 
set foot in the rooms, had a touch of assertion based 
upon the fact that her previous situation had been 
in Sloane Street, S.W. All the same, a capable person, 
and the petition that came from Miss Lilley and Miss 
Bushell, urging, in so many words, that they should 
be treated as young ladies, rather than as factory 
girls — this was met by a soothing word from Madame, 
and a hopeful prophecy that everything would shake 
down, well and comfortably, if one but exercised 
patience, and allowed time. Miss Fox engaged, during 
one of the earliest days, in a bout with Madame over 
a trifling detail, much as though she desired to try 
her strength, and being defeated in somewhere near 
the second round, adopted thenceforth an attitude 
of strict deference towards the head of the establish- 
ment. She had the gift of interlarding foreign words 
in a way that suggested intimate acquaintance with 
the French language, and this was effective with 
local customers, who, in addressing her, raised their 
voices in order to assist a foreigner's powers of com- 
prehension. Miss Fox lived at Crouch End, and alluded 
to her aunt as belonging to a well-known (but not 
more precisely defined) county family. “If she had 
not married against the wish of her people/’ said Miss 
Fox confidentially, “I should, at the present moment, 
be following the hares and hounds, instead of ruining 
my complexion by working indoors.” The new comer 
spoke with enthusiasm of her abilities in keeping 
accounts. Madame said that, in this regard, no help 
was needed. 

With all this bustle it proved easy for the fortnight 


216 


MADAME PRINCE 


to go by ere Madame realised that Phyllis was due, 
and that a situation of some difficulty was likely to 
occur. The news that Chard was married would have 
to be broken to the girl. A telegram, expected on 
the day, did not come; Madame found several 
excuses for the omission — she remembered what a 
hurry-scurry ensued when one arrived at an English 
port. Madame waited up until midnight on the look- 
out, but no Phyllis arrived. She told the others in 
the morning that it was the easiest thing on the 
Continent to lose trains, and this always meant a 
considerable delay. 

The end of the week came, without a word of news. 

“Whatever can have happened ?” wailed Georgina. 

Members of the staff and other inquirers were told 
that Miss Phyllis had resolved to prolong her holiday 
for an extra week. To Madame, during her sleepless 
nights, the thought occurred that Richard too, at a 
time when home control was detached, had come 
under other influences. 

Miss Fox, answering the telephone, told Madame 
that she was wanted by someone who said she was 
Madame’s daughter. Madame flew to the telephone 
and could not keep regret from her voice in discovering 
that it was Ethel who was speaking. 

“So sorry to trouble you, mother dear, but will 
you please, please meet P. H. — I say, will you meet 

P. H. ? You know who I mean. My husband 

Will you meet him without fail at the top of the steps 
of Snow Hill station? Do you know Snow Hill? 

Nearly opposite Holborn Viaduct At four o’clock 

this afternoon. Yes, this very afternoon. Oh, of 
course, I know quite well it isn’t too convenient, but 
do please do as P. H. wishes, mother dear, for my sake. 
If you knew all it meant to me, I’m sure you wouldn’t 
hesitate for a moment. What’s that? You will go? 


MADAME PRINCE 


217 


Oh, you dear! How splendid of you. Be as nice as 
you can, won’t you, because that is very nice indeed. 
Phyllis and Georgina all right ? I didn’t quite catch — 
Not home from her holiday yet? The young gadabout, 
to stay away like that. She’ll have a lot to talk about 
when she comes back. Good-bye, mother dear, and 
thanks ever so much.” 

Peter Hilborough advanced to meet Madame as 
she stepped easily from the motor omnibus, and 
expressed the hope that she had made the journey 
in comfort, promised that no great amount of her time 
would be occupied. He could have taken the trip to 
Highgate Village, only that there was the question 
of his partner, a busy man, it appeared, and just now 
slightly defiant and not disposed to go far out of his 
way to oblige others. 

“Fortunately, Madame, you have plenty of ex- 
perience in dealing with people.” 

“But surely it isn’t for me to manage him !” 

“I’m rather counting on your help,” admitted Hil- 
borough. 

They went into a tea-room near the top of Old 
Bailey, and orders to the waitress had been given 
when Peter Hilborough beckoned to a new-comer 
at the swing doors ; the signal was at first disregarded, 
and the direction of the smoking-room taken; Hil- 
borough rose and succeeded in bringing the man to 
the table. Mr. Ewart, Madame; Madame Prince, 
Mr. Ewart. Ewart had heard of Madame: Madame 
had before to-day, been so fortunate as to hear 
of Mr. Ewart. Ewart thought there was nothing 
quite so welcome at this hour of the afternoon as 
a cup of tea, and spoke of a friend of his, now no more, 
able to drink six cups right off, one after the other, 
and appropriate astonishment having been exhibited 
begged to be excused for a misstatement; the precise 
number he now recollected was eight, and an increased 


218 


MADAME PRINCE 


surprise was offered to the amended statistics. From 
this, Ewart went easily to the topic of sugar, and 
discussed its ability to encourage stoutness. 

“But that hasn’t any need to worry you,” he said 
flatteringly. 

“I’m fortunate,” agreed Madame, “in that respect.” 

“And I trust in every other.” 

“Not so sure,” she remarked, checking a sigh. 
“What do you two want to talk to me about ?” 

It seemed that Ewart had not yet exhausted his 
stock of trifling remarks, but Madame, cutting them 
short, repeated her inquiry, and Peter Hilborough, 
urging her to choose fancy pastry in lieu of roll and 
butter, took upon himself the task of explaining. 
He and Ewart were in partnership together. They 
had managed to get along fairly well; one could not 
with correctness say more than that. Just now they 
were at the parting of the ways, so to speak; at a 
junction, to put it more accurately, and to tell the 
truth, and to tell it briefly, what they wanted was 
the sum of five hundred pounds. 

“Where is Mr. Ewart going to find it?” she in- 
quired. 

Ewart protested, and Peter Hilborough confirmed 
the protest that, from the very start, he had made it 
clear he could put no more capital into the business, 
knew no one likely to provide additional money. 
That side of the work, and others, had been left, 
it seemed, to Hilborough, who assured Madame frankly 
that he had tried many quarters before thinking 
again of her; only on his wife’s direction had he 
agreed to put the situation before Ethel’s mother. 
Ethel declared that if it were possible for Madame 
to do it, she would, because Madame had always been 
ready to make sacrifices for her children. 

“That may be true,” she admitted, “but I haven’t 
felt quite sure recently that I was being repaid.” 


MADAME PRINCE 


219 


“The knowledge of doing a good deed,” urged 
Ewart, “ought to be, in itself, a sufficient recompense.” 

“There are good deeds, and good deeds,” she 
interrupted. “Some are better than others. If I 
help you two out of your difficulty it can be under- 
stood that I am not doing so because I’m a fool.” 
Ewart was pained at the suggestion. “But because 
I want to keep friendly with my eldest daughter. 
Before we go any further, though, I must go into 
your books.” 

They escorted her to an office, high up, and gained 
with the aid of a lift, and there Madame inspected 
figures, made calculations on a sheet of paper, cor- 
rected, when the firm of Hilborough and Ewart made 
a statement not completely endorsed by facts, and 
declined to allow herself to be flurried. Ewart 
attempted to cloud details by an extraordinary amount 
of talk, and was presently sent into a corner, where he 
appeared to count himself lucky that he was not 
made to turn face to the wall. At the desk, Peter 
Hilborough answered the questions which were put. 
The difficulty of a small firm in dealing with Coventry, 
the attempts of larger firms to impede the possibilities 
of a new idea regarding motor cycles that Ewart 
had brought in as one of his contributions, the 
reason for delay in working this out, the public desire 
for novelties, the circumstance that manufacturers 
had, like wine merchants, years when their production 
was of good quality, and years when it was imperfect, 
weakness on the part of the cycle purchaser to 
settle by instalments, question of tyres and ex- 
pired payments, turnover of the firm of Hilborough 
and Ewart for the past year, and the amount 
each partner had taken of the profits — all these 
and other details were placed in the possession of 
Madame. She admitted there had been no extrava- 
gance, mentioned that whilst the sum required could 


220 MADAME PRINCE 


scarcely be looked upon as a safe investment, it 
was not, perhaps, more risky than many speculations. 

“This would make seven fifty in all !” she said. 
“Three hundred of this lot I am taking from someone 
else, and two hundred is mine. And it will bring my 
deposit account at the bank down pretty low. For- 
tunately, Tm doing well. We’d better now have an 
agreement drawn up, giving me one-third of the profits 
for seven years, and at the end of that time, if you 
are still in existence, you refund the money.” 

“Wouldn’t five per cent ” began Ewart from 

his comer. 

“If you failed,” she went on, addressing Hilborough, 
“nothing would come my way. If you succeed, why I 
should get a fair share.” 

“May I,” said Ewart, “with all respect, make a 
suggestion that ?” 

“I’m dealing with my son-in-law,” she retorted. 
“I think he knows me well enough to be aware that 
I’m not likely to budge.” 

As the lift gave a jerk and took her down, she heard 
Hilborough’s partner, near the trellised gate, speak 
of someone as a regular corker, and no mistake. 
In the sunlight of Holborn Viaduct, she remarked to 
herself, with a certain recklessness, “In for a penny, 
in for a pound.” On the other side of the way, near 
to the City Temple, she caught sight of a hat and coat 
like to those worn by Phyllis when leaving for the 
Continent ; she flew across excitedly, scarcely regarding 
the traffic, only to find that they belonged to a lady 
whose age, judging from the make-up on her features, 
could not have been less than forty. The lady dropped 
her handbag, and as a lad hastened to restore it, 
she smirked at him in a style intended to be winsome. 
Madame shivered and turned away. 

“Where are you, my child?” she said in a whisper. 
“Where are you, dear?” 


MADAME PRINCE 


221 


Aunt Emma listened in her half detached way to 
the financial statement offered by Madame. She 
begged, when everything had been described, that 
she might be exempted from unnecessary worry; 
already, she said, her mind was not nearly large enough 
for all it was called upon to entertain. Yes, yes, she 
quite understood. Madame had borrowed the money 
for some purpose, and guaranteed to make it good; 
that was enough. 

“It may take me years to pay it back.” 

“So much the better.” 

“And you won’t blame me, later on !” 

“Blame you, my love,” cried Aunt Emma. “Why, 
I never heard tell of such a thing. Blame you, 
indeed. What next, I wonder!” She remarked that 
there was something she desired to ask of her sister; 
it had been on the tip of her tongue fifty times; 
the difficulty seemed to be that she could remember 
it only on the occasions when Madame was not present, 
and certainly it was out of her power to recall it now. 
“It’ll come to me some day or other,” said Aunt Emma, 
confidently. 

It was impossible for Madame to shut out the knowl- 
edge that the time drew near when the disappearance 
of Phyllis would have to be acknowledged. Ten days 
had gone, over and above the fortnight allotted, 
and Georgina speculated freely on the kind of accident 
which Phyllis had encountered; searching the news- 
papers to find records of disastrous occurrences of 
magnitude, she was baulked at first by the discovery 
that they occurred exclusively in the United States. 
An earthquake in Italy came at an opportune moment, 
and Georgina said they must all resolve to be prepared 
for the worst. In Kentish Town Road, Madame, one 
afternoon, was searching a draper’s shop for a special 
kind of artificial flower that Holloway did not supply. 
With the habit now of glancing eagerly at every face 


222 


MADAME PRINCE 


that went by, she observed a girl walking on the 
other side of the way, in the company of David’s 
brother, the inspector of Somers Town, and two men 
in plain clothes. The inspector caught sight of her, 
and with a word to his companions, strolled across. 

“Saves me the trouble of writing,” he said, saluting. 
“That lad of yours, I’m told, has bucked up wonderful 
of late. He’s moved from Stibbington Street up into 
this neighbourhood. I’ve got it somewhere here in 
my pocket book.” 

“Just now,” remarked Madame, “I’m more anxious 
about one of the other children.” 

“They are a nuisance to you, and no mistake,” 
said the Inspector frankly. “You must often wish 
Providence had never sent ’em.” 

“No,” she declared. “That idea never occurs to me.” 

She described her trouble in regard to Phyllis, 
and the inspector spoke of the case he had just handed 
over to his two subordinates. The girl had been brought 
to the police station suffering from loss of memory, 
and unable to give her name or any other particulars 
concerning herself; a Kentish Town address had been 
found in her hat, and she was now being conducted 
around the neighbourhood in the hope that encounter 
with familiar surroundings might arouse intelligence. 

“And I shouldn’t wonder,” said the Inspector, 
“if something of a similar nature has occurred to your 
young missy.” 

“I’d be thankful to know it was nothing worse.” 

“It don’t do,” he said authoritatively, “to dwell 
too much on the dark side of events. Simply means 
that you go through the agony over and over again.” 
Madame put an inquiry. “There’s certainly no harm 
in you going to Scotland Yard,” he admitted. “Get 
back home first, and write out a full description of 
the young party. Put it all down in black and white, 
and then take it along with you.” 


MADAME PRINCE 


223 


Madame was engaged at her desk on this task, 
when a customer was heard engaged in contentious 
argument with Miss Fox; she had to interrupt herself 
and go to make peace. Returning, she found Aunt 
Emma dusting the room. 

“Would you say,” asked Madame, “that Phyllis’s 
eyes were brown or grey?” 

Aunt Emma dropped the whisk. “Knew I sh’d 
recollect it in due course,” she remarked, com- 
placently. “What Eve wanted to ask you was this. 
I did give you that letter, didn’t I, that Phyllis handed 
to me just afore she went away?” Madame sprang 
at her sister, excitedly, demanding information. 
“Now you mustn’t go flurrying me,” protested the 
other, “and don’t go shaking me, else I shan’t know 
what I’m talking of. Question is, did I, or did I not, 
give you that note? Can’t remember doing so, but 
it’s quite possible I’m a botherin’ myself about nothing 
at all.” 

The search began. Aunt Emma’s view, now that 
she ascertained the letter had not reached her sister’s 
hands, was that she had set it in some place for safety, 
and this meant the unlikeliest corners had to be 
ransacked. The two went about the rooms; Aunt 
Emma bewailing the circumstance that there was no 
one to tell, as in the children’s game, when they were 
hot or when they were cold. Madame shifted a triple 
mirror that hung on the wall. “I knowed,” cried 
Aunt Emma triumphantly, as an envelope slipped 
to the carpet ; “I knowed, as well as anything, I’d 
put it somewheres.” 

Madame, with a hand that trembled, opened the 
envelope. The communication inside was in pencil, 
and made up of a few sentences. Phyllis wrote that 
dearest mother was not to be worried, and not to 
be old-fashioned; Phyllis said she had delayed for 
some time taking the step of leaving home, but had 


224 


MADAME PRINCE 


now been persuaded to break away from Highgate 
Village and from work. “I know there will be risks, 
and what sort of a muddle I shall make of my life 
remains to be seen. Get someone to take my place. 
I ought to have had the courage to speak to you, but — 
well, I hadn’t. My companion in crime is waiting 
for me. Excuse this hurried scrawl. Bless you !” 

By post that same evening came another and an 
equally perplexing letter from Phyllis. She was, so 
she wrote, at last settled in the most gorgeous flat that 
Earl’s Court knew. Frightfully expensive rent, but 
that, of course, was not her affair. Dearest mother 
must at once see it, and if she wished, deliver a 
lecture on the behaviour of girls of to-day, compared 
with the deportment of girls thirty years ago. “Come 
and tell me I am an ungrateful child. Come and call 
me all the names you can think of. Come and let us 
apologise to each other, and make it up. I shall send 
a car for you at three o’clock to-morrow.” 


CHAPTER TEN 


H IGH STREET, noting the presence of the car, 
said that Madame’ s business was getting 
on like one o’clock ; guessed how long 
it would be ere, with so many distinguished customers, 
she removed from The Village. The butcher strolled 
across to examine, and returning, announced to his 
wife that he had seen bigger, encountered better, 
but did not know when he had met one that looked 
so comfortable; if the cost of cars ever went down,' 
and meat kept up, he was hanged if he would not 
begin to think of the possibility of buying one, rather 
similar, on his own account. High Street, enjoying 
the sunshine, felt astonished to discover that the 
lady stepping into the car was no stranger upon whose 
identity speculation could make play, and whose 
apparel lent itself to discussion. High Street wondered 
what caused Madame to look so set and serious. 
“She’s generally got a smile for us,” remarked the 
neighbours perturbedly. 

A fog, out of its proper season, had enveloped the 
lower lying parts of town, and the thoughts which 
occupied Madame’ s mind were jerked and disturbed 
b, possibility of incidents in the traffic. The 
chauffeur went carefully, but not so carefully as to 
escape criticism from others engaged in the business 
of transit; the close, heavy atmosphere seemed to 
have affected the temper of drivers, and they com- 
plained bitterly of each other’s clumsiness, offered 
disparaging criticism of each other’s features. Near 
the Britannia, in Camden Town, a wagon loaded 
225 


226 


MADAME PRINCE 


with straw had taken the opportunity to break an 
axle, and sprawled, holding up tramcars that clanged 
bells, and delaying motor omnibuses which hooted 
angrily. Madame, during the stop, was tempted 
to jump out, and shirking the task set before her, re- 
turn to Highgate. It was partly the fog, but not 
wholly the fog, that caused her to take pocket hand- 
kerchief and press it to her eyes. 

“I never dreamt,” wailed Madame, “in all my life, 
that I should be called upon to go on an errand like 
this !” 

The favouritism that a London mist shows was 
apparent when the car managed to reach Albany 
Street, and began to make a better pace. Near the 
barracks the fog suddenly came to an end, and the 
brightness that she faced helped Madame to put aside 
melancholy, and to comfort herself with the remark, 
helpful to so many in times of stress, that what cannot 
be cured must be endured. Anyway, here was the 
joyous fact that she was going to see again her young- 
est daughter ; whatever of disaster had occurred could 
in no way interfere with that. Encouraged by the 
thought, she began to look about her at Knights- 
bridge and in Brompton Road to note, as was her cus- 
tom, any new adventure on the part of fashion, and 
to print details on the memory. She had partly for- 
gotten her anxiety and nervousness when the car 
stopped and the chauffeur came, touching the peak of 
his cap, to open the door. “Straight through,” he said, 
pointing. “Right at the end of the corridor.” 

Madame pressed the knob at the side of the white 
enamelled door, waited for a shadow to appear behind 
the thick glass, and collected thoughts that had under- 
gone a course of juggling during the journey from 
Highgate. The first words were, of course, to be: 
“Is Miss Prince at home?” That was the sentence 
to open; the rest would be left to chance and to cir- 


MADAME PRINCE 


227 


circumstance. A variant was : “Miss Prince. Is she 
at home, please ?” The appearance at the opened door 
of a manservant, when she had expected to see a maid, 
arrested speech. A familiar voice came from the other 
end of the small hall. 

“Dear blessed mother of mine,” cried Phyllis, 
rushing forward. The manservant stepped aside. 
“This is glorious of you to come and see me. Did you 
have a comfortable ride? I borrowed the use of the 
car so that you should arrive in a state of good 
temper.” They embraced affectionately, and Phyllis 
led the way to the drawing-room. “We now,” she 
said, “engage upon the task of soothing a naturally 
indignant parent, and attempting to persuade her that 
everything is for the best, in the best of all possible 
worlds. Ethel will be here soon.” 

“You have invited your sister as well?” 

“Didn’t mind, surely !” 

“No, no,” said Madame tremulously. “Only I 
thought you would prefer to have a chat with me alone. 
There’s so much for us to talk about.” 

“With any luck,” declared Phyllis, “there should 
be no intervals of silence until you go, dear. How 
is Aunt Emma, how is Georgina, how is Miss Lilley, 
how is Miss Bushell, how is the cat? And what are 
they all saying about me? Don’t look so serious, 
mother dear ; I don’t seem to know you with your fea- 
tures like this. Sicklied o’er, I mean, with the pale 
cast of thought.” 

“Haven’t had much excuse for feeling bright 
lately.” 

“The business?” 

“The business is first class,” she replied. “We are 
doing better than ever we were. We’re getting on 
capitally.” 

“And I used to think I was the little mascot of 
the establishment. The one bright member of an 


MADAME PRINCE 


228 


otherwise sedate and commonplace family. Instead 
of which, I appear to have been the hoodoo.” 

“You’ve managed to keep your good spirits.” 

“In the life I am now leading,” said Phyllis, draw- 
ing a blind to keep the sun from her mother’s eyes, 
“that is, indeed, extraordinary. Would it be more 
seemly if I burst into penitent tears I wonder? I dare- 
say I could manage it.” 

“This room seems warm,” complained Madame. 
““Let me take off my hat and coat.” 

Phyllis, blaming herself for thoughtlessness, sent 
her mother to the adjoining apartment, whilst she 
herself gave some orders. In the other room, Madame 
sat upon one of the two beds and saw the reflection 
in the cheval glass of a white-faced woman, whose 
hair was giving signs of grey. She wished she had 
brought with her a bottle of smelling salts. “But 
I mustn’t give way,” she remarked sharply; “and 
I mustn’t be silly.” 

Back in the drawing-room she waited. The furni- 
ture was good, the taste admirable; there seemed to 
have been no stint in arranging the flat. Outside, 
Phyllis was talking to a maid. She put her head in at 
the doorway. 

“Would you like the car to call round, mother, and 
take you home this evening?” 

“No,” answered Madame, speaking with an effort. 
“No; I’d much rather go by motor ’bus.” 

“Sure?” 

“Quite sure.” 

Phyllis turned and gave instructions to the maid. 
“Very well, my lady,” said the girl. It was at this 
point that Madame, on the heavily cushioned settee 
leaned back and fainted. 

“You dear soul !” cried Phyllis. “You’ve been over- 
working yourself; that’s what it is. You like 
to pretend that you haven’t missed me, but really, you 


MADAME PRINCE 


know, you have. Sit near this open window and get 
quite yourself before my husband comes home. He’s 
awfully keen about seeing you again, and I don’t wish 
him to find you like this. Wanted — bless his simple 
heart — to write you a long, long letter, whilst we 
were on our honeymoon, but I persuaded him it was 
never done in middle-class circles, and he can be easily 
persuaded to avoid anything like a task. There now ! 
I declare you are looking better already. Colour com- 
ing back. Time has not cropped the roses from your 
cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.” 

“Phyllis, my own best girl,” said Madame in a 
whisper. “Give your mother a real good hug, and try 
to guess how happy I am.” 

Ethel came with a reserve of manner that she ex- 
plained, so soon as her mother had made some 
allusion to the imperfect photograph of the outside 
of the registrar’s office, furnished by the journal. 
Ethel admitted that, having been kept in the dark, 
she was not at all sure in her own mind, on receiving 
the invitation, whether Phyllis was married; the new 
Lady Chard was enormously amused at this misun- 
derstanding, and threatened to communicate it, 
at the earliest opportunity, to Sir Ernest; Ethel 
begged and prayed that this might not be done, declar- 
ing that it would give her no alternative but to sink 
through the floor. Luckily, she had not men- 
tioned her fears to P. H. Madame, invited to give 
an opinion, said that, with all respect to her eldest 
daughter, the blunder was inexcusable, but confessed 
that in regard to the picture it would have been 
wiser for Phyllis to have kept her head up. She gave 
some blame to the journal for not furnishing the name 
of the bride. Phyllis mentioned that the ceremony was 
kept quiet, partly (but not wholly) because the 
enamoured Mr. Marsh had threatened to be 
present whenever, and wherever it took place, ready 


230 


MADAME PRINCE 


to play the part of one seeking revenge. Marsh, it 
appeared, was now engaged to a barmaid. 

“How did Sir Ernest's mother take at all ?" inquired 
Ethel. 

“Badly at first/' replied Phyllis. “Took it as badly 
as any parent off the stage could do. We thought 
she knew nothing about it, and it appeared she had 
known all about it. Refused to ascertain what I was 
like, and sulked. But we met last week, and my 
singularly winning manner, and my highly attractive 
features, won the old lady over in five minutes and 
twenty-eight seconds. At the end of that time, she 
assured me she was exactly like me when she was a 
girl; a statement that I think was founded upon hope 
rather than upon concrete truth." 

“And what did you say ?" 

“I said I trusted I might resemble her when I came 
to her present age. Now, she lends me the car when- 
ever I want it." 

“Then you haven't one of your own," said Ethel, 
relievedly. “If Sir Ernest ever wants a motor 
cycle " 

He came in at the moment, and greeted the visitors ; 
Madame looked on beamingly as he and Phyllis kissed. 
Some of the languid manner had gone from him, 
but he was persuaded to take a comfortable chair, 
to accept Phyllis's offer to find cigarettes, and to allow 
her to light one for him. Phyllis described his work 
in the City as a most exacting tax upon any man ; he 
had to leave the flat by half-past ten sharp, and fre- 
quently it was near to five o'clock ere he returned. On 
one occasion it was actually a quarter past before he 
managed to reach home. 

“P. H.," remarked Ethel, “is at his office from 
nine till half -past six on ordinary days, and two on 
Saturdays." 

“He was probably brought up to it," argued 


MADAME PRINCE 


231 


Phyllis. “This agreeable but impecunious man here 
should, by rights, never have to go to the other side 
of Temple Bar. The State ought to subsidise him.” 

“Circumstances,” said Chard, “forced me into the 
whirlpool. I’d ever so much rather not have to earn 
money.” There was a pause of silence. 

“You young people have got to make up your mind 
to save,” announced Madame. Another pause. 

“Will you explain the methods adopted by the estab- 
lishment,” Phyllis asked her husband, “or is the duty 
to be left to me ?” He sat back, lazily, and with a nod, 
transferred the task to her. 

“Mother dear,” said Phyllis. “I know it would 
please you to hear that we had opened an account 
in our joint names, at the National Penny Savings 
Bank. You would be overjoyed to be told that we 
had a money-box on the mantelpiece, in the shape of 
a pillar-box, and bought at a sixpenny halfpenny shop. 
The truth is Ernest and I are at one in deciding to live 
up to the last farthing of our income.” 

“Oh, my girl!” protested Madame. 

“You ought to get P. H. to talk to you,” remarked 
Ethel. “He gave an address about the question 
of thrift at a Pleasant Sunday Afternoon not long 
ago.” 

“I missed that,” admitted Phyllis, apologetically. 
“Perhaps it was intended for men only. Anyway, 
thrift is never mentioned here.” 

“You’ll be sorry for it later on.” 

“As the money comes in,” explained Phyllis, 
“so the money goes out. If it doesn’t come in, it 
fails to go out. And tradesmen have the fine quality 
of giving credit where credit is due; a confectioner 
in Earl’s Court Road wept salt tears the other day 
because I paid for some cakes, and took them away 
with me. I don’t like seeing these good people exhibit 
emotion in that way. It unmans me. It isn’t fair 


MADAME PRINCE 


232 


to either of us. What they prefer is to make up books 
with red lines, and plenty of figures, and a lot of odd 
halfpennies. Who am I that I should deprive them of 
the one joy that, in all probability, makes commercial 
life endurable ?” 

“You know what Phyl means,” remarked her hus- 
band to the guests in his leisurely way. “We have 
made up our minds to take our chances. IPs almost 
bound to come out smoothly, and if it doesn’t, it is 
we two who will have to put up with it.” 

Madame seemed inclined to contest this view. 
The entrance of one of the maids with a tray ar- 
rested her. 

“I always went on that plan before I married,” 
said Chard. “It’s a comfortable one, anyhow.” 

Certainly it was pleasant enough to sit in the shaded 
drawing-room, with a scent of freshly cut flowers 
that was not aggressive, to sip tea to which Madame 
paid generous compliments, and in regard to which 
even Ethel admitted she could discover no defect. 
Ethel did mention, later, that she thought the decora- 
tion of the walls skimpy ; the presence of a few choice 
mezzotints would not, she felt certain, be calculated 
to satisfy P. H. P. H. went in, it appeared, now, for 
oil paintings which he secured occasionally as a rare 
bargain at temporary auction rooms in Cheapside; 
Ethel herself did not claim to know anything about 
art, but P. H., whom she trusted, said that many of 
them only required to be kept for a sufficient length 
of time in order to become of great value in the mar- 
ket, hunted for by connoisseurs, and, later, offered by 
patriotic owners to the National Gallery. To her 
mother privately, when an opportunity came, Ethel 
gave news that the business at Holborn Viaduct, 
after being crippled in early days, had now, thanks 
to Madame, obtained the full use of its limbs, and 
was moving rapidly. Mr. Ewart felt pleased about it. 


MADAME PRINCE 


Mr. Ewart and P. H. had nearly agreed to part com- 
pany, and dear mother’s assistance had just managed 
to save the situation. Madame remarked that it would 
be a great relief to her when the money was eventually 
returned. 

“Ernest and I,” interposed Phyllis, “have been talk- 
ing about this evening. You are both coming on with 
us to the White City, and we can eat there, and drink 
there, and be merry there.” 

“They have a half-guinea dinner,” said Chard, “that 
I hear rather well spoken of.” 

Madame protested it was impossible for her to eat 
ten-and-sixpence worth of food; Phyllis said that 
when her mother reached the stage of one-and-eight- 
pence, she would be allowed to stop. Ethel declared 
that P. H. would go mad if he returned home and 
found she was not there ; she suggested, as an amend- 
ment, that he should receive an invitation by wire, 
but Phyllis thought that if P. H. were so sensitive, 
even the receipt of a telegram might upset mental 
balance. Therefore Ethel, after careful inspection of 
all the rooms of the flat, left with the satisfied air 
of one who has collected a good armful of news for 
consumption at home, and Madame went along the 
corridor with her to telephone, from the hall, to 
Georgina. 

“Such a load off my mind,” confessed Ethel on the 
way. “I did really think poor Phyllis had taken 
advantage of her good looks to do something dreadful. 
Were you certain that she was married, mother?” 

“What a question to ask !” protested Madame. “Do 
you think I don’t know my own children ?” 

“Isn’t it a blessing,” said Ethel, complacently, “to 
think we have never, any one of us, given you occasion 
for a single moment’s anxiety?” Madame appeared 
to consider that the question did not require an answer. 
Georgina, at the other end of the telephone, mentioned 


234 


MADAME PRINCE 


that Miss Fox was, in Madame’s absence, bossing the 
show, and no mistake. 

The three went by taxi-cab (although Madame 
offered the opinion that it was possible to make the 
journey less expensively by train), and Madame dis- 
covered, once more, and now in less disturbing con- 
ditions, the joy a mother can find on hearing her 
daughter spoken to by maids and hall porters with 
the deference accorded to rank. The driver, arriving 
at the entrance to the exhibition in Wood Lane, 
jumped* down and addressing Chard as “My lord,” 
gave information concerning the sum given on the 
dial, with an evident desire to save trouble to the dis- 
tinguished; Madame, from mere force of habit, in- 
spected the record, corrected the figures, and the 
driver gave her a look of antipathy that many men, 
it is to be hoped, do not give to many women. The 
evening of a sultry day had brought a pleasant touch 
of coolness, but folk sauntered slowly about the 
gravelled roadways, allowed themselves to be propelled 
on the water by gondolas, and, approaching the white 
buildings, decided to exempt themselves from the 
study of sculpture and painting, and to remain in the 
fresh air. Near the bandstand, Chard met some City 
men of his acquaintance; they showed extraordinary 
earnestness in craving to be allowed to introduce him 
to wives, and other lady companions, and he obeyed 
as though they had a claim upon his services, one that 
it was his duty to meet. 

“But who have you got with you, Sir Ernest?” 
asked a wife inquisitively. “The elder one, if 
Pm not mistaken, is a dressmaker person, up in 
Highgate Village. How did you come to know her, 
I wonder ?” 

Compensation arrived when Mrs. Mirfield and her 
husband were met in the neighbourhood of the most 
expensive of the restaurants; the member of Parlia- 


MADAME PRINCE 


235 


ment engaged Chard in private conversation, and Mrs. 
Mirfield explained to Phyllis, with great animation, 
the good appearance, and the countrified manners of 
Phyllis’s mother at a time when they were both ap- 
prentices in the West End. 

“Jolly days,” sighed the lady. “Fve mentioned 
the fact to you before, Milly, but whenever I see you, 
it all comes back to me. Lady Chard,” turning to 
Phyllis, “mind you make the most of your life whilst 
you’re young.” 

“I assure you I am doing my best.” 

“The worries and the troubles,” declared Mrs. Mir- 
field, “and the troubles and the worries, they go on 
piling up and up as one gets on in years, until at last 
it seems as though they’re more than can be put up 
with. Don’t you find it so, Milly?” Madame was not 
prepared to offer any personal experiences in support 
of the argument. “But I know you of old. You 
wouldn’t admit it, even if it was true. Can you guess 
what the latest is?” She gave a jerk of the head in 
the direction of her husband, to indicate that he was 
concerned. “I’ve got to take up social work, if you 
please. I’m to go about and be nice to people who 
don’t want to see me. Make little speeches to people 
who don’t want to hear me. Force myself on people 
who don’t want to know me. Nice pastime, isn’t it?” 
she demanded, ironically. Phyllis mentioned that it 
was a popular game. “That’s what his idea is. He 
wants to see the papers calling me philanthropic, and 
industrious, and warm-hearted.” 

“But they say that about everybody,” suggested 
Phyllis. 

“And I foresee a lot of bother,” the other went on, 
“unless I can get hold of a capable young woman to 
help. I wish you’d both keep your eyes open, and let 
me know if you hear of anybody likely to suit. I’d 
pay her well.” They gave a promise. “She must be 


23 6 


MADAME PRINCE 


of an even disposition, and not talk too much.” Phyllis 
feared that this made the task impossible. 

The Mirfields were invited to join the party at dinner, 
and Mrs. Mirfield accepted promptly, but her husband 
intervened. “Chard,” he said bluntly, “a man in 
your position can’t afford it.” He added an instruc- 
tion to the other to call upon him in the morning when 
he hoped to be able to put a few guineas in Chard’s 
way. Incautiously, Mr. Mirfield followed this with a 
word of patronage and condescension to Phyllis, and 
received a verbal stab in reply that sent him off in an 
abashed mood. 

A table was found outside the restaurant, and 
separated from the roadway only by youthful shrubs, 
eked out by a dwarf wooden palisade; the folk going 
by, and crunching the gravel as they walked, appeared 
to consider that the joy of inspecting the diners closely, 
and commenting on their food and their appearance, 
was included in the shilling paid at the turnstiles. The 
waiter recognised Chard and gave special atten- 
tion to the table; obeying an order, he found a screen 
to be set as protection, and this but added to the 
curiosity of passers-by; short and sportive youths 
lifted each other up in order to ascertain the reason 
for this secrecy, and catching sight of Madame cried, 
“Hullo, Ma! Out on the randan?” and resumed 
their promenade with the air of having acquitted 
themselves appropriately and well. The three, en- 
gaged in conversation, were becoming inured to these 
pleasantries when a man tall enough to be able to 
look over the screen without assistance, showed 
his head there and remained gazing and listening. The 
waiter, bringing cutlets of lamb and green peas, 
caught sight of him and flicked a napkin in his direc- 
tion; the man reappeared, so soon as the waiter 
had gone as though unable to tear himself away 
from a fascinating scene. Madame was speaking of 


MADAME PRINCE 


237 


Richard; her apprehensions in regard to him, and her 
hopes. 

“But of course/’ remarked Chard easily, “you 
have a perfect right to exercise control over him, if 
you care to do so. After all, he’s your own son.” 

A cough made Madame and her daughter look up; 
the face vanished on the instant. Phyllis moved her 
chair close to her mother, and spoke solicitously. The 
intrusive man, suggested Phyllis, was either a groom 
out of work, or a peer of the realm. 

“It’s the weather,” explained Madame, tremulously. 
“I’ve felt the heat all the afternoon. We’re going to 
have a storm or something.” 

“Let us go on eating, anyway,” recommended 
Chard. 

“I can’t touch any more !” 

“But the best is to come !” 

“Don’t bother her, Ernest,” ordered Phyllis. 
“Would you care, mother dear, to walk about the 
grounds with me for a while ?” 

“I’ll wait,” said Madame, “until Sir Ernest can 
come with us.” Phyllis, comforted by noting her 
mother’s quick recovery, mentioned that the desire 
of members of her sex for the companionship of the 
male was one of the greatest obstacles to independence. 

As they strolled around, after the meal — watching 
the excited folk taking part in sports that included 
the quality of peril, and entering one or two of the 
side-shows — Madame kept very near to her son-in- 
law, flattering him by an interest in his desultory 
conversation that scarcely seemed justified. Once 
near the flip-flap, as a fist was stretched out in a 
threatening way from the car that ascended, Madame 
clutched at her companion’s arm. Phyllis declared 
that she was not of a jealous nature, but in the 
case of a parent who did not look her age, she felt 
bound to check these signs of impetuous affectioa 


MADAME PRINCE 


238 


Madame expressed a desire to get away at once. She 
assured them Georgina would be feeling anxious. 
It would be advisable to reach Highgate ere the rain 
came down. They parried with her arguments, Chard 
speaking of the hour as early, and Phyllis remarking 
on the space of time that had elapsed since she and 
her mother had found opportunity for a good, long 
conversation. “Let us review the past,” urged 
Phyllis. “Tell Ernest what an engaging child I was, 
in early days, and how I have been going on, improving 
steadily ever since.” At any other moment, the bait 
would have been taken; now, Madame begged them, 
with unusual earnestness, to allow her to go. 

The storm came as she was entering the building 
that led to the Tube station. When she had taken 
a seat in the waiting carriages, people arrived hurriedly, 
men shaking bowler hats up and down the gangway, 
and their ladies blaming them severely for the weather’s 
uncalled for behaviour. In a few minutes, passengers 
were holding to the straps. “Pass further along the car, 
please,” shouted the conductor. In the movement, 
Madame’s shoe was trodden upon; she looked up 
to receive apology, and to extend pardon. 

“This is a bit of luck!” The tall man, once en- 
countered on Highgate Hill, on the night that Madame 
flew through Waterlow Park, and seen more than 
once on the present evening, looked down at her, 
and spoke in a slightly husky voice. “Had an idea, 
somehow, that I should run across you eventually 
at one of these shows. Always partial to a certain 
amount of gaiety, weren’t you?” 

“The rain,” she stammered, “has come on us rather 
suddenly.” 

“And so have I !” he retorted, bending down. 
“Suddenly and unexpectedly. And not wanted, I 
daresay. But here I am, anyhow, and, being here, 
I’m going to get some information from you. I 


MADAME PRINCE 


should have asked for it over the screen just now, 
only that you’d got a gentleman in the party.” 

“You always were afraid of a man.” 

“If it comes to that, Milly, so are you, I expect. 
Sometimes. This occasion is one of them.” 

“You’re making a mistake there,” she said, obtain- 
ing courage. The train stopped and more passengers 
came in, finding room where no room appeared to 
exist; the tall individual was urged to move, but 
declined in violent terms and found himself embroiled 
in a new quarrel. Mr. Warland, dentist, carrying 
a leather case, came near, and in lifting his opera-hat 
to Madame, stumbled ; a Masonic dinner had to 
share with the jerking train the responsibility for 
this, but the truculent man with whom he came into 
collision, gave all the credit to Mr. Warland. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said presently, turning 
to Madame after the question of clumsiness had been 
discussed with heat; “don’t you go flattering your- 
self that I’ve done with you. I shall keep on your 
track until I get what I want out of you. The boy 
must be growing up by this time and earning money, 
and I’m his father, and I’ve got better rights ” 

“You have no rights at all, Sam.” 

“You do remember then, what name to call 
me?” 

“I can think of several,” said Madame defiantly. 

The man swore at her, committing here an error in 
taste and in diplomacy. For Mr. Warland, placing his 
leather case on Madame’s lap, forced his way to 
the door, spoke to the conductor, and at the next 
station the two, gripping the man by the shoulders, 
propelled him, amid the applause of other travellers 
of a peace abiding temperament, along the car swiftly, 
and threw him out to the platform, where, to the open 
diversion of all excepting Madame, he gesticulated 
wildly, threatening to report everybody to everybody, 


240 


MADAME PRINCE 


and aiming a kick — which missed — at the departing 
train. Mr. Warland returned flushed and contented, 
and opened a debate, contributed to by several 
neighbours, on the correct form of treatment to be 
served out to bounders who force their company, 
uninvited, upon ladies travelling alone. The dentist, 
at Tottenham Court Road, wanted to see Madame 
safely to Highgate. She assured him the incident 
was exceptional, and that there was no necessity for 
fear. 

“ You’re too good-looking/’ said Mr. Warland 
tenderly, “to be travelling about by yourself. I 
shall have more to say about this later on.” 

Outside the terminus of the Tube railway, the 
lightning, forgotten during the underground journey, 
showed alarmingly ; thunder succeeded the flashes 
without dalay, and the Hill was a running stream 
that had apparently driven all the people to their 
homes. From the tramcar, as it made the climb, 
she could see the persistent raindrops spattering up 
high from the pavement; a late postman, with his 
oil-cape blown askew, was the only person who had 
taken up the challenge of the aggressive storm. 
Madame, her thoughts, after much disturbance, going 
to business, wondered how many letters would be 
awaiting her, after an absence of nearly eight hours. 
The driver, in the handsomest manner, broke the 
rules by checking the car exactly opposite the house 
in High Street. 

“Poor mother,” cried Georgina, sympathetically. 
“What a night, to be sure, for you to be out in. 
Come up and tell me all about Phyllis. And let me 
tell you about Miss Fox. You’ve no idea what a 
terror she can be when you’re not here. Makes me 
feel as though I can’t stand it much longer.” 

The note on the top of the pile of correspondence 
was in the handwriting of Richard. Madame declined 


MADAME PRINCE 


241 


to answer questions, or to allow shoes to be taken 
off until she had read this. 

“After a good many of the disasters,” he wrote, 
“from which few literary men, worth their salt, are 
exempt in early voyages, I have now a chance of 
putting into a safe harbour for a time, in order to 
execute the necessary repairs. I want you to send me, 
by an early post, a copy of my birth certificate; the 
people for whom I am going to work insist upon the 
production of this document. Although our ways 
are in different directions I often think of you, mother 
dear, and all you have done for me. My love to 
my sisters. — Your ever affectionate son.” A post- 
script said that the certificate was to be despatched 
by that night’s post, at the very latest. Richard 
added that he would have called at Highgate Village 
for it, but he was not desirous, until affairs improved, 
of meeting the girls. 

Madame, giving Georgina a large amount of 
information, and sending her to bed, remained in 
order to unlock the book that was kept in her writing 
desk, and to enter up a full page devoted to her 
youngest daughter. Then, she read the letter again, 
and went to stare out of the window at a moon 
illuminated night, a clean washed roadway, and a 
peaceful atmosphere. 

“For once in my life,” she declared perplexedly, 
“I don’t in the least know what I ought to do 1” 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 


M ADAME’S early morning intention of going 
to see Richard was baulked by the necessity 
of acting as arbitrator in the case of Miss 
Fox versus Georgina, Miss Lilley, Miss Bushell and 
others. (The others consisted of the two new appren- 
tices recently taken on; Miss Bushell had been 
advanced to the position of improver, had left the 
half-crown a week stage, and spoke largely of offers 
from West End establishments, declined by her 
because she could get on well with Madame, and 
doubted her abilities in this respect where new authori- 
ties were concerned. Miss Lilley said, privately, 
that she would like to have evidence of these offers 
ere she went so far as to believe in them.) During 
the absence of Madame at Earl's Court, Miss Fox 
had certainly contrived to set everyone by the ears. 
She did not hesitate, it appeared, so soon as Madame’ s 
back was turned, to declare that Georgina lacked 
the intelligence required for the profession of millinery 
and dressmaking. She told Miss Lilley that the two 
spots on the young woman’s chin were due to excessive 
consumption of chocolates. She charged Miss Bushell 
with frivolity, and expressed the opinion that Miss 
Bushell allowed young gentlemen to speak to her 
on Sunday evenings in Archway Road, without an 
introduction. Of the two new apprentices Miss Fox 
said that, by rights, they should have been sent, 
by their muddle-headed parents, into domestic service. 
According to statements furnished, Miss Fox carried 
242 


MADAME PRINCE 


243 


her scheme of irritating criticism so far as to enter 
the kitchen, and to make some allusion of an uncom- 
plimentary nature on the topic of food supplies; 
Aunt Emma, realising the situation, promptly offered 
to empty a pail of water over the intruder, and Miss 
Fox (so the other said) darted back into the show- 
room with the alacrity of an astonished cat. 

“And that’s what she is,” declared Georgina, 
heatedly. “She’s got a catty disposition, and I, 
for one, don’t propose to put up with it. Mother, 
you must send her off.” 

“I won’t leave the place again,” promised Madame, 
“for such a length of time. And I’ll have a talk 
with her. Try to put up with it, dear, for my sake. 
We’re so busy just now that without her ” 

“I help you all I can.” 

“I know, I know! But you will understand that 
I miss Ethel, and I miss Phyllis.” 

“Perhaps,” suggested Georgina moodily, “you’ll 
miss me, too, when I’m gone.” 

“Don’t you feel well, my dear?” 

“My health’s all right,” she said. 

It was late in the evening ere Madame found herself 
able to start out. The day had been perturbing for 
more reasons than one; with the task that concerned 
Richard before her, there was the chiding of Miss 
Fox, who first denied flatly the statements made 
by other parties in the case, and second argued that 
she was more than justified in taking the steps which 
they described. Madame, she contended, was much 
too soft in her dealings with those around her; Miss 
Fox, for herself, claimed that she had never been a 
molly-coddle. Madame hinted that members of the 
staff were to be treated with consideration, and Miss 
Fox said, with some bitterness, that she supposed 
her best plan would be to look about for a gentleman 
and begin to think of getting married. It would not 


244 


MADAME PRINCE 


take long, and whatever the troubles of domestic 
life might be, they could scarcely compete with the 
worries that attended business. On Madame remarking 
that, greatly as she valued the other’s services, she 
could not, of course, stand in the way of a project 
of this nature. Miss Fox, changing attitude, cried 
out that all the people in the whole wide world put 
together, were not capable of forcing her into marriage 
until she herself was ready and willing. “But please 
don’t think,” she begged, “that I never get chances. 
A gentleman lifted his hat to me from the opposite 
side of the way, when I was at the window only this 
afternoon.” Madame inquired whether this was an 
acquaintance, and Miss Fox answered with pride that 
she did not know the gentleman from Adam. She 
would recognise him though if she met him again. 
The discussion finished well and contentedly with 
allusions to the impartiality of romance, and the 
unlikelihood of any woman escaping it. 

In Kentish Town, Madame twice approached the 
door of the house, and twice took a respite by going 
away without touching the knocker. “Wish it was 
all over!” she sighed. At the third essay she gave a 
modest rap as though hopeful it would not be heard. 
The landlady appeared on the instant. 

“He’s out,” she said distantly. Madame gave an 
ejaculation of relief and turned to go. “And,” went 
on the other, arresting departure, “with the temper 
he’s been in all day, I shouldn’t have minded if he’d 
gone before. Down the stairs every time he heard 
the postman coming along, and bawling out to me, 
and upstairs again, and pacing to and fro as though 
it was an impossibility for him to keep still. He said, 
as he went off, that if the letter came now it would 
be too late. When I got rid of the last writing man 
that was a lodger here, I promised myself I’d never take 
another. I’m an idiot,” said the landlady, “that’s 


MADAME PRINCE 


245 


what I am, and nobody knows it so well as myself. 
Who shall I say called, ma’am?” 

Madame explained. “And will you say, please, 
that — that — I haven’t been able to find the slip 

of paper he wants, but Well, mention that I’m 

still looking for it.” 

“What made him leave home I wonder? I’ve 
often tried to get that out of him, but he’s very re- 
served. Did you have a tiff, like mothers and sons 
often do? I’m not complaining, mind you. It’s a 
good thing for us, who let, that boys can’t always 
get on well with their own people.” 

“There was no dispute,” said Madame. “He wanted 
to leave; that was all.” 

“I suppose you know he’s just finished writing a 
book? I’ve read a lot of it that he crumpled up and 
put in the wastepaper basket, and it seemed to me quite 
fairish. If the rest is as good, it ought to bring in 
some money, I think.” 

“How is he off for cash?” 

“He pays his way,” admitted the landlady. 
“Apparently, he’d had hard times, and he’s all the 
better for it. I can’t help taking an interest in him, 
because he’s got a nice face. Would you care to come 
up and see his room ?” Madame considered this 
might be considered intrusive. “Nonsense!” cried 
the landlady. “Cat and fiddlesticks. What next, I 
should like to know? Hasn’t a mother got her rights, 
the same as anyone else? Come along !” 

The room was tidy; a small bed near the wall 
was covered with a rug and cushions, and pretended 
by day to be a settee. Typewritten pages were in a 
neat pile on the table, with a glass weight, “A present 
from Alexandra Palace” atop; Madame could re- 
member the day it was bought, and the parachute 
descent that had delighted her husband. She looked 
around for her own photograph. In the silver frame 


246 


MADAME PRINCE 


that she had given him for his last birthday was a 
portrait of the stout lady once seen at Victoria station ; 
the artist had, with great diplomacy, taken a back 
view with the head but slightly turned; a signature 
ws.s written boldly across, giving to the shoulders 
the appearance of having been tatooed. Madame 
took it up to inspect closely; the contents of the frame 
shifted, and her own portrait slipped from under- 
neath the photograph of the lady in evening dress. 

“Sit down for a bit,” urged the landlady. “You 
look fagged out, all at once.” Madame thanked her, 
and said she thought it wiser to be making her way 
in the direction of home. The other, pained by the 
cutting off of talk, remarked that some people did 
not seem happy unless they were always on the go. 

Miss Fox, heartily disliked by those immediately 
around her, had with customers a manner that proved 
to be a considerable asset. She differentiated carefully. 
To some she was slightly pedantic in speech, with 
the interlarded words in French, and this they took 
as proof that Miss Fox came of a high and noble 
ancestry; to some she spoke with plainness, and this, 
they reckoned, showed that she was prepared to 
stand no nonsense: to the select few she was deferen- 
tial in suggestions, meek in behaviour, and this was 
held to be a sign that Miss Fox knew her place, and 
did not aspire to go above it. From one of the last 
set, a new patroness resident at Finchley, after a 
long argument on narrow skirts and what to wear 
with them, in which the head assistant contrived, 
by sheer humility, to persuade the customer to re- 
linquish the minor habits of a lifetime — from this 
lady came, at the end, a confession that the debate 
would have been carried on with less of acrimony 
but for the fact that a distinguished person who had 
made a solemn agreement, in writing, to open a 


MADAME PRINCE 


247 


bazaar in which the customer was deeply interested 
(she had, it seemed, promised in a rash moment to 
make up any deficit in the sum of fifty pounds to 
be realised for the help of the Young Mothers’ Wel- 
come), this notable member of society had excused 
herself, at the last moment, on the grounds — almost 
eccentric, considering her high position in the smart 
world, and the fact that she had been married for 
a year or so only — that she was expecting an event 
which would be duly chronicled at the head of the 
first column, and first page of The Times. 

“You will have to get someone else,” remarked 
Miss Fox shrewdly. 

“But we must have a title. And I’m at my wits’ 
end to know where to turn for one. I’ve tried no less 
than six, and five of them didn’t answer, and I wish 
the sixth hadn’t.” 

“Have you asked Madame?” 

“Dressmakers,” remarked the customer from 
Finchley, “may fancy themselves important people, 
but they don’t open bazaars. Not yet!” she added, 
sarcastically. 

Miss Fox consulted Madame. She returned to 
announce that, if the customer wished it, Lady Chard 
would be asked to take the public duty: to be under- 
stood, however, that Madame’ s daughter was not 
to be called upon to make purchases at the stalls. 
The customer, declaring that the visit had relieved 
herself and Finchley of every anxiety, almost gave 
Miss Fox a kiss. 

And Phyllis came north, on the day appointed, 
in her mother-in-law’s car — “Good thing I was able 
to borrow it,” she remarked, “for there was not 
enough money in the flat to pay for a taxi!” — and 
went through the ceremonial proceedings in a way 
that caused local reporters (youthful, perhaps, and 
certainly impressionable) to lose all control of their 


£48 


MADAME PRINCE 


fountain pens, and to babble in print of her charming 
unconventionality, her dainty appearance, her singu- 
larly well-chosen words, “all of which combined to 
make the afternoon memorable in the history of our 
neighbourhood.” Phyllis could have booked half a 
dozen engagements before leaving the platform, but 
evaded these by the plea that she did nothing without 
the approval and express consent of her husband; 
one or two women, possessing no mates but endowed 
with great strength of character, took occasion to 
argue this point with young Lady Chard, who pleaded 
that having made the initial error of starting married 
life as an obedient slave, it was now too late to adopt 
any other methods. (For this effort in imagination, 
she received due punishment, later, in the shape of 
bundles of literature that were never sufficiently 
stamped, and long-written communications that 
became, by reason of their extraordinary fluency, 
and the circumstance that they were blurred with 
corrections and deletions, and crossing of lines, a 
weariness of the brain.) Phyllis talked of Madame 
Prince’s establishment at Highgate Village, and the 
ambitious of Finchley assumed that she gave her 
own patronage there ; Phyllis observed that lips 
moved silently in the act of committing the address 
to memory. She called at Madame’ s on the way back 
and in High Street tradesmen saluted her, every 
window had a partially concealed spectator. Upstairs, 
the bouquet, tendered by her grateful hostesses, 
was presented to Aunt Emma, who declared, with 
tears, that this, coming on the top of a friendly letter 
from Jim, was enough to fair turn anyone’s head. 
Phyllis chatted with the assistants, accepted 
deferential congratulations from a customer who, 
but a few months earlier, had spoken of her in the 
mental stress of being fitted, as an impertinent young 
hussy. Also, introduction of Miss Fox. 


MADAME PRINCE 


249 


“Thank you so much, my lady,” said the head 
assistant, with emotion, “for doing what you’ve 
done this afternoon, at my request. That bazaar, 
I mean.” 

“My mother gave the orders.” 

“Oh, yes, yes,” agreed the other fervently. “I 
know, I know, I know! But nothing can prevent 
me from feeling under an enormous obligation. You 
can’t think how pleased Babs was. My one remaining 
relative, I mean. I always call her Babs. Isn’t it a 
funny name?” 

“It palpitates with true comedy,” said Phyllis. 

“I was sure you’d see the humour of it, my lady. 
She’s so young looking that when we are out together, 
she doesn’t quite like the idea of being spoken of 
as my aunt. You may not believe it, but she is abso- 
lutely sought after at Crouch End. People can’t make 
too much of her.” 

“Why should they?” 

“And if you ever find yourself, my lady, in that 
direction, it would please Babs so much if you could 
just look in and have a cup of tea and a cress sand- 
wich. En famille, as it were,” urged Miss Fox. “Just 
to give her something to talk about. So good of 
you, my lady, to promise.” Madame, free for a 
moment, came across and rescued her daughter. 

“Furnished,” commented Phyllis, “with consider- 
able powers of tenacity. Don’t let her get too much 
control over the business.” 

“It would want a good many Miss Foxes to turn 
me out of a place where I’ve been all these years.” 

Back in the kitchen Phyllis cheered Aunt Emma’s 
heart again, this time by compliments to fleed cakes 
(Phyllis had tasted none so good since leaving home), 
to the toasted scones (Phyllis charged Aunt Emma 
with the crime of possessing and concealing a private 
recipe); to the letter from Jim Lambert (Phyllis 


250 


MADAME PRINCE 


declared that the partly legible writing was not, as 
Aunt Emma feared, caused by excess of alcoholic 
stimulant, but merely proved that sentiment took 
no account of age). One thing clear in the note was 
that Jim intended to come to town, and to take Aunt 
Emma out for the day. “Since you left me,” said 
Jim, in his obscure penmanship, “I have had nothing 
but good luck, and I feel I ought to thank you for 
doing me a kind turn.” Georgina obtained leave of 
absence from the showroom, and after Phyllis had 
parried with numerous and curious inquiries — such as, 
was married life all that some books pretended, 
and had Sir Ernest been in love before, and did Society 
men carry on when you met them, and what did 
aristocratic ladies talk about when they were alone ? — 
then Georgina took her sister to the window and 
confided the news that something of a startling nature 
would in the immediate future be announced, in which 
she, Georgina, was to be chiefly concerned. 
Mainly Miss Fox was to blame, but Miss Fox could 
not be held entirely responsible. Highgate Village, 
with no sister, and without a brother, had become for 
Georgina unendurable. 

“Who is the man ?” asked Phyllis. 

“That’s part of the difficulty. There isn’t one.” 

“Sorry, old girl.” 

“You can’t be half so sorry as I am,” declared 
Georgina. “But there you are, and it’s no use pre- 
tending. And I want to prove to myself that I’ve 
got sufficient strength of mind to strike out my own 
path.” 

“Better to keep to the main roads.” 

“What price you?” demanded Georgina, adopting, 
in her excitement, familiar speech. “What about 
you slipping off, as you did, and getting married on 
the sly? But there, it’s no use talking: you’re happy, 
and I’m not.” 


MADAME PRINCE 


251 


“I am going,” said Phyllis speaking slowly, “to tell 
you something I intended to keep as a secret. I am 
not quite sure, not completely certain, that the action 
of mine you refer to was the most sensible thing I 
could have done.” 

Georgina, in the hope of extracting further con- 
fidences, mentioned the case of a well-known lady, 
who according to the innuendoes mentioned in a chatty 
journal which she favoured, had left her husband 
for the third time ; the latest companion was described, 
with a certain vagueness, as Major X. Phyllis recom- 
mended her sister to place small reliance upon the 
printed word, and said that, in any case, one should 
not judge a woman by her disappearances. 

Jim Lambert came to Highgate Village, making 
the latter part of the journey by taxi-cab, and spoiling 
for Aunt Emma the joy of meeting by allowing the 
conveyance to wait. “The twopences!” cried Aunt 
Emma, alarmedly, at frequent intervals. Jim was ex- 
pensively apparelled, but a want of what the authorities 
call co-ordination was obvious in his attire: his shoes 
and trousers were, seemingly, going to play at cricket, 
his frock-coat was on the way to a garden party, and 
his amazing waistcoat could not in reason have gone 
anywhere. His hat had come from the Western States 
of America. 

“Heaven forbid,” cried Jim Lambert, answering his 
wife's first inquiry. “Want you back? Dang my 
old eyes, why sh’d I want you back? Course, I 
don’t want you back. You stay here where you are, 
and I’ll stay down where I be. In my opinion, there’s 
many a married couple that’d be a sight happier if 
they’d the sense to do what we’ve done. I’d no idea, 
to tell you the truth, that you’d got so much in that 
noddle of yours.” 

“Does me good to see you again, Jim.” 


252 


MADAME PRINCE 


“We don’t want none of that kind of talk,” he 
remarked, uneasily. “We’re going to be jest friends, 
and nothing more. I’m about to take you off to 
a race meeting, and then you’ll come back and call 
for your sister and we’ll all go down West, the three 
on us.” 

Returning at six o’clock, Aunt Emma explained to 
Madame that, say what you liked about him, Jim 
was no fool. Jim had his faults, and no one knew 
them better than Aunt Emma, but, mind you, Jim’s 
head was screwed on the right way. If any one was 
aware how many blue beans made five it was Jim. 
Look, for instance, at what had happened that very 
afternoon. On the racecourse at Alexandra Park, 
they had no sooner arrived than two so-called ladies 
made a rush for Jim, begging him to exchange his rose 
for their violets, urging him to tell them what horses 
they ought to back, and assuring him he was looking 
younger than ever. And what did Jim do? Why 
Jim simply turned round and said, “Allow me to in- 
terduce you to my wife, who’s been my fond and true 
companion for this many a long year.” And Aunt 
Emma wished to goodness that her sister had been 
there, just to watch the look of astonishment on 
the faces of the two, to observe the manner in 
which they pretended to catch sight of somebody 
they knew, and hurried off. Jim told Aunt Emma 
that the ladies — if that word conveyed a proper de- 
scription — had followed him about from pillar to post 
until they had nearly succeeded in making his life a 
positive misery. Admitted there had been a time when 
he felt as partial to the fair sex as most men, he as- 
serted that the interest of picking out the right gee-gee 
now closed the door upon other desires. “I guessed 
your face’d send them away,” he said, in complimen- 
tary tones. It was clear that Aunt Emma regarded the 
events of the afternoon in the nature of a personal 


MADAME PRINCE 


253 


triumph; it seemed she looked upon Jim’s invitation 
for the evening as a compliment so high as to obliterate 
all memory of past grievances. Madame was not sure 
that she herself cared to join the party, but Aunt 
Emma begged this attitude should not be taken up. 
“Want you to see,” she said appealingly, “how nice 
he can be when he tries.” 

Jim Lambert was waiting outside the Lei- 
cester Square Tube station; Aunt Emma clutched at 
the arm of her companion on catching sight of him. 
Jim was in evening dress, with a bulging shirt front 
over which the waistcoat had no control; his light 
overcoat thrown open that the world should see, and 
appreciate to the full, three blazing diamond studs. 
With an air of chivalry he escorted them across the 
roadway, giving a shilling to the policeman near the 
refuge. Conducting them to swing doors marked, 
“Saloon Bar,” he demanded in a loud and slightly af- 
fected voice: 

“Three of your best port wines, miss, and a six- 
penny cigar.” He looked around as one expecting 
a round of applause, and seemed disappointed to 
find the lordly command received with equanimity; 
he became aggrieved on finding that his guests declined 
to so much as sip at the refreshment offered, but hand- 
somely arranged to settle the difficulty by himself 
emptying the three glasses. Aunt Emma watched the 
feat with open admiration. 

“You wouldn’t find one man in a hundred,” she 
whispered to Madame, “who’d ha’ had the sense to 
think of doing that !” 

The variety theatre for which he had booked seats 
was about two minutes’ walk away, but Jim sum- 
moned a taxi-cab, giving a shilling to the lad who 
closed the door. To the commissionaire at the top of 
the marble-like steps that led to the vestibule he tend- 
ered a shilling, and to a messenger boy, who was com- 


254 


MADAME PRINCE 


in g out, after delivering a telegram at the box office, he 
offered a shilling; the young official tested it first with 
his teeth before saying, “Thank you, Captain !” Inside 
the programme girl received three shillings for three 
programmes, and on making some attempt to find 
change was waved aside by Jim’s well-ringed hand. 
To Madame he said as they took seats, after this 
philanthropic march, he said in explanation : 

“Either do a thing well, or don’t do it at all !” 

Seated between his two companions, he mentioned 
that the entertainment was, he had reason to believe, 
somewhat near the knuckle; for himself, he did not 
object to a certain riskiness in speech or costume, 
and he hoped his companions would be broad-minded 
enough to look on at the show in a like manner. 
“There’s no sense in being narrer, these days,” 
argued Jim, drawing on white kid gloves with diffi- 
culty. “Anyone who is, ought to be kep’ under a glass 
case in a mewseum. A mewseum is the proper place 
for ’em. So if you two take my advice, you’ll accept 
it all as it comes.” 

“Hope there’s nobody here what knows us,” said, 
Aunt Emma. 

“There ought to be,” he remarked later on. “ ’Bout 
ha’-past nine I told him to show up.” The overture 
stopped, and Number Two was placed by footmen, 
evidently borrowed from the best circles, at either 
side of the stage. 

The turn of Signora Polini and her performing 
pigeons gave no offence to even the most sensitive 
minds. A balancing trick by some gentleman from 
Japan seemed perilous, but in no way offended the 
canons of good taste. A sketch representing a trial 
at the Old Bailey for murder thrilled, but did not 
shock; Aunt Emma was contented at the end to find 
that although the lady in the dock (a person of 
renown on the legitimate stage, and making it obvious 


MADAME PRINCE 


255 


that here was a task far below her powers, and indeed 
not worth taking trouble about, so that she chattered 
rapidly all the time as though anxious to get it over, 
examining witnesses, subjugating counsel, and harry- 
ing a timid judge and an unconvincing jury), although 
she, on her own admission, did shoot her husband as 
he lay on the sofa, who, it appeared, well deserved 
a worse fate — yet, because of the incautious admission 
of a female witness, described as a lady detective, it 
was made evident that the imperfect man had been 
shot by some one else, half an hour before, and, in less 
time than you could say knife or cut a piece of string, 
it was proved that the earlier shot had been fired 
by no less a person than the so-called lady detective, 
who was indeed the man’s first wife, and the judge, 
permitted at last to speak, felicitated the occupant 
of the dock on the possession of a conscience 
white, pure and admirable, and the leading lady took 
the last opportunity to show what she thought of 
the audience by gabbling, almost inaudibly, a few 
words about truth, and its ability to triumph over 
venom and malice. 

“What comes next?” asked Jim Lambert. Trouble 
with his shirt front had caused him to lose a hold of 
his programme. 

“Danse d’ Amour,” replied Madame, and inter- 
preted the title. 

“I hope,” said Jim, glancing over his shoulder, “as 
he’s here in time to see this. This ought to be jest 
about Sam Weatherley’s mark.” 

Madame, looking on at the performance saw mistily 
a young woman clad in what appeared to be a single, 
but adequate, garment, capering languidly about 
the stage to music, waving arms, and bending now and 
again to pluck suppositious flowers, and enjoy their 
perfume. The name, mentioned by Jim took her 
thoughts back to the railway carriage after the evening 


256 


MADAME PRINCE 


at the White City, to the swift run, long before, up 
Highgate Hill, to more remote incidents upon which 
she did not allow her thoughts to dwell. Looking 
around apprehensively, it seemed to her that no back- 
ground was worse fitted for a duel of words on a 
private subject; all these people would welcome a 
squabble likely to break the decorum of the entertain- 
ment, and not one of them would care a pin’s head 
about justice or equity. Sam Weatherley, with noth- 
ing to lose, might favour the summoning of a consta- 
ble; he would have little objection to Vine Street police 
station, and to the court in Bow Street. On the stage, 
the young woman took up an impressive attitude, rest- 
ing on one knee and arms flung back, and the curtain 
came down. Next item, bioscope pictures of “How a 
Newspaper is Produced.” 

“It ent coming up to my expectations,” confessed 
Jim Lambert : “How’d it be to try one of the other 
places? They can’t all be or’nary as this.” 

Aunt Emma declared herself quite comfortable, but 
Madame welcomed the suggestion of moving. She 
had heard compliments in regard to the entertainment 
given at a house just over the way. 

“And now I come to think it over,” said Jim, out- 
side, “I’m half inclined to believe it was the other 
show where I told Sam Weatherley we’d be.” 

“We don’t want to hear nothing about him,” 
interposed Aunt Emma, with authority. “All the 
harm he did is past praying for, and if he’d had any 
sense he’d have departed this life long ago. And then, 
by this time, he’d be enjoying the torments of the next 
world.” 

“From a argument I had with him once, I found 
out that he didn’t believe in the existence of a ’ell.” 

“He won’t have no alternative when he gets there,” 
said Aunt Emma. “Where on earth did you have the 
ill-fortune to run across him?” They crossed to 


MADAME PRINCE 


257 


the railings of the square, and waited to discuss the 
matter. 

“In a race special, it was,” explained Jim. “He 
tried to get me on to the play cards. Didn’t recognise 
me, but I identified him, I did. Presently I made my- 
self known, and you never saw a chap so pleased to 
meet anybody, in the whole course of your existence. 
He told me he’d seen you.” Turning to Madame. She 
did not answer. “He said you’d altered in some re- 
spects, but not in all. His idea was that you could give 
answers back jest as well as ever you did. But he 
said he wasn’t going to be put off like that.” 

“The one fortunate thing is,” said Madame, trying 
to appear resolute, “that he doesn’t know my address. 
And I hope you didn’t tell him.” 

“There wa’nt no occasion to. He told me where you 
lived.” Madame could not repress an ejaculation of 
alarm. “He’d got everything pat and ready about you. 
Mentioned that he’d struck up an acquaintance with 
one of your young ladies.” 

“That doesn’t sound true.” 

“Lots of statements don’t sound true, but they are, 
none the less. And Sam Weatherley’s like this. I 
hadn’t seen him for years, but I do remember this 
about him. That once his mind is set on an object, 
he don’t give it up in a hurry. He’s dogged; that’s 
what he is. Dogged is the name for it.” 

“Jim,” said Madame. “I wonder whether I’ve known 
you long enough to ask you to do something for me. 
I came out this evening under the impression you were 
going to take us to dinner. I know that already 
you’ve had a lot of expense, but ” 

“Expense be danged,” he cried, heartily. “Come 
along and we’ll have a supper that’s fit to set afore a 
queen.” 

Jim Lambert, during the meal, admitted that in his 
experiences connected with horse racing he had 


258 


MADAME PRINCE 


been assisted by chance, and described some of the 
safeguarding methods which he adopted. Tuesday 
and Wednesday were his fortunate days. His lucky 
numbers were three, ten, and seven. If his right eye 
itched, he at once doubled his investments for he knew 
he was perfectly safe in doing so. It was his practice 
now, in opening his eyes on the first morning of each 
month to say “Rabbit” ; in Jim’s opinion, many folk 
who took other precautions failed to achieve success, 
by omitting this formality. 

“But it ent much use me going on talking,” he com- 
plained to Madame, “if you’re not prepared to give me 
your full attention.” 

“I’m thinking of something else,” said Madame. 

Georgina reported that her brother had, at last, 
called. Richard left word that the failure to send the 
simple document asked for had spoilt his chance of 
getting a useful berth. Georgina was ordered to con- 
vey this news, and to add that, after this, he wished to 
have nothing more to do with his mother. 

It seemed to Madame but a small compensation to 
find that the post had brought a handsome cheque 
from the firm of Hilborough and Ewart. 


CHAPTER TWELVE 


T O Aunt Emma Madame remarked on the 
fact that in the years when her children 
were a comfort to her, she was harassed by 
money cares, and rarely free from them; now that 
she was left with no one but Georgina, the financial 
side, as though anxious to make amends, was 
everything that could be wished. Madame found 
her sister a useful recipient for confidences in that 
Aunt Emma nodded approval of any and every 
remark, reserving thoughts to the one subject of 
meals for the day. Quite automatically Aunt Emma 
said, 

“I think that's so, my dear.” 

And, “I’m sure it’s a positive fact.” 

And, “There's no getting away from that!” Her 
interest failed to quicken when Madame explained 
the manner in which the account at the bank was being 
gradually regulated. Urged to give attention to this, 
Aunt Emma begged to be told whether it was her 
sister's desire to send her clean out of her mind: she 
alluded, not for the first time, to Barming Asylum. 
Even the question of the ground floor failed to arouse 
in her anything like appropriate excitement. On 
the other hand, it gave to Madame all the joy that 
a business woman obtains from the effort to secure a 
bargain. 

Miss Warland discovered herself taken in charge by 
a resolutely minded warder from Holloway, and mar- 
ried by him before — as she herself expressed it — before 
259 


260 


MADAME PRINCE 


she fully realised what was happening. Some of the 
romance disappeared when it was ascertained that the 
masterful warder had applied for a well re- 
munerated position that was not open to bachelors, 
but enough remained to carry Miss Warland to the 
registrar’s office, from which place she made her way 
back to The Village alone, because her husband had 
to return to his duties. Upstairs, in High Street, she 
declared that Madame had always been regarded by 
her as a loving parent, and that she had never ceased 
to look upon the girls as sisters ; Madame refrained, 
in view of all the circumstances, from calling attention 
to the fact that respective ages marred the similes, 
and that the lady’s behaviour in the past had not been 
always in consonance with the views now expressed. 
A more important interview took place later down- 
stairs. Georgina had heard, from an active social 
worker in Highgate, of a highly respectable mid- 
dle-aged woman who was desirous of obtaining 
a situation as housekeeper; a partiality for spirits 
was her only defect, and she had given her word to 
the social worker that the pledge should be signed. 
This formality, it appeared, had already been observed 
on many occasions, but Georgina, very desirous of 
making a success of her first experiment, appealed to 
her mother to go down and persuade Mr. Warland to 
give the applicant a trial. 

“I’d do even that,” said the dentist, when Madame 
recited the suggestion, “even that to please you, 
although I can pretty well guess with a lady of such 
a disposition, what the consequences would be. But 
I’m going to retire.” 

“You’re not old enough for that,” 

“I’m going to retire,” he said firmly, “before I’m 
too old to enjoy retiring. And if you’re wise, you’ll 
do the same. Oh, there’s nothing to laugh at,” he 
went on. “I’ve been thinking it all out, for some time 


MADAME PRINCE 


261 


past. You and I could take a nice house, Totteridge 
way, and be as happy as the days are long.” 

“They’d seem long to me,” said Madame. “Why, 
I should be perfectly miserable!” 

“Not much of a compliment to pay anybody.” 

“It wouldn’t be your fault,” she explained. “I 
should be like a duck out of water, if I hadn’t any 
business to look after. And we’re doing so well just 
now.” 

“The very time to sell out,” he argued. 

“Are you going to dispose of yours?” The dentist 
shook his head, and said it was not worth the trouble. 

“Then, look here!” Madame spoke eagerly. 
“What about me taking the ground floor at a moderate 
rent ?” 

Mr. Warland said that, were he able to afford it, 
he would give himself the pleasure of handing the 
floor over to Madame, free, gratis, and for nothing : 
money being money, in these hard times, he thought, 
say, so much a year extra would meet the case. 
Madame had in mind a smaller amount. Mr. Warland 
lessened his suggestion and Madame offered a slight 
increase of her figures. Within ten minutes the two, 
meeting at a convenient half-way stage, shook hands to 
bind the arrangement, and the dentist said that if 
Madame ever changed her mind in regard to the offer 
concerning Totteridge, she had but to send a post-card. 

Miss Fox threw all her energies into the new scheme, 
assisted Madame usefully, goaded the staff into an 
increased celerity of movement. The contents of the 
.showroom were brought downstairs so soon as Mr. 
Warland had removed his cases, his operating chair, 
his light literature for the cheering of waiting patients, 
and the other articles. A belated spring cleaning 
took place throughout the entire house, and Madame’s 
domestic furniture was given space to better advantage. 
The front room on the first floor became the work- 


MADAME PRINCE 


262 


room : the old workroom was converted into a sitting- 
room, and an office for Madame. A speaking tube 
was fixed, communicating from one floor to the other. 
For the first time, the establishment of Madame Prince 
found itself able to offer a window show, and there 
came by van a waxen female figure originally dear 
and costly, but picked up as a bargain, the transfer 
of which was closely observed by diverted school 
children who urged the bashful man from Goodge 
Street to take the wife home again, and forgive 
everything ; hinted that he would not dare to 
behave in this manner if women possessed the power 
of voting. For days, young ladies of the neighbourhood 
made excuses for taking an inspection at the window ; 
servants, despatched on errands, risked the displeasure 
of their mistresses by giving time to Madame Prince’s, 
and making guesses at the intention of neat cards 
which said “Le Dernier Cri,” and “Nouveaute de 
Paris”; the suspicion was that these conveyed some 
subtle announcement to the initiated which Madame 
did not dare to convey in English. Phyllis, on her 
way to a political garden party, where she was to help 
the true interests of the nation by smiling hard for 
two hours, was delighted with the new appearance, 
congratulated everybody, and asserted that sbme 
credit was due to herself for assistance given by leaving 
the establishment and allowing it a fair chance. 
Ethel came, but her conversation was restricted to 
the topic of P. H. and his high hopes of obtaining a 
Government contract ; Ethel felt anxious to meet 
helpful people, and begged her mother to search 
through the list of customers, present and past, and 
see whether influence could be wound up, as by a 
watch-key, and started. Madame could think of no 
one but Mrs. Mirfield, and had really no idea whether 
Mr. Mirfield had any voice in such matters, or whether, 
having a voice, he cared to use it. 


MADAME PRINCE 


263 


“Wish I could meet her,” said Ethel. 

“She’s coming here this afternoon,” remarked 
Georgina. “She wrote and told me so.” 

“Mrs. Mirfield wrote to you?” inquired Madame, 
surprisedly. 

“I’ll stay on,” said Ethel. “Even if nothing comes 
of it, P. H. will see that I’m doing all I can.” 

Mrs. Mirfield treated Ethel’s appeal with the indiffer- 
ence of one who ljas weightier affairs on her mind; 
her remark that Mr. Mirfield, with many irons in 
the fire, was always most careful to keep clear of 
anything that was shady, sent Ethel off in a state of 
partially suppressed annoyance. She told her mother, 
in going, that what P. H. wanted was an introduction 
to the right quarters; nothing more. Madame sug- 
gested the name of Phyllis’s husband. “I’ll go and see 
him at once,” said Ethel promptly. Mrs. Mirfield 
took with her from High Street a cardboard box 
that held two new blouses; she also carried away a 
well-furnished tin trunk and Georgina. 

A full hour of argument had taken place, an argu- 
ment from which Madame came beaten, and exhibiting 
signs of mental distress. Mrs. Mirfield wanted someone 
as secretary, and someone as companion, and someone 
to talk to, and someone of an amiable disposition, 
and someone of whom Mr. Mirfield would not take 
too much notice, and someone not so excessively 
aristocratic in manner as to invite comparison: all 
these requirements she found in Georgina, and she 
implored Madame, as an old friend, and a good 
mother, not out of mere selfishness, to stand in the 
girl’s way. Georgina, called to take part in the con- 
ference, admitted that she and Mrs. Mirfield had 
arranged everything, and that only her mother’s 
consent was now required; she managed to hint that 
although this was wanted, it could scarcely be looked 
upon as indispensable. And Madame might have 


264 


MADAME PRINCE 


taken up an attitude of obstinacy only that Georgina, 
suddenly changing methods, burst into tears. 

“I want to do some good in the world/’ she sobbed. 
“Or, at any rate, I want to be doing something.” 

To Mrs. Mirfield, whilst Georgina was packing up 
with the aid of Aunt Emma, Madame, in speaking 
plainly, thanked goodness that no one now could 
rob her of any more of the children. The other, 
satisfied with her capture, hinted at a belief that all 
these matters were directed by a power, higher than 
ourselves, and ordered, moreover, for our good. When 
they had gone, Madame went through the empty 
bedrooms, slowly and thoughtfully. The family 
record book received a new entry. 

Miss Lilley offered to live in the house, and sketched 
out an ambitious plan of becoming a daughter to 
Madame; the arrangement lasted for a week, and 
then the young woman announced that the evening 
disputes at her own home were, she found, to be pre- 
ferred to the peacefulness of High Street. Aunt Emma 
still refused the offered assistance of a maid, threaten- 
ing to go back to Jim, in spite of his protests, if the sug- 
gestion were repeated. In the new circumstances, 
Madame had reason to be grateful for the claims of 
business, and for the extra labour entailed by the 
alterations; there was novelty in taking a level view 
of High Street, and in noting that lady passengers 
in cars that ascended the Hill, on catching sight of 
the window, often jumped up with an urgent appeal 
to the conductor to stop. They came back from the 
terminus, and delaying explorations Hampstead Lane 
way, appeared to count the time well disbursed in 
inspecting. 

The alert Miss Fox, having succeeded in evicting 
Georgina from the establishment, showed all her 
former industry, with a more considerate manner. 
In conversation she sometimes alluded to “a friend 


MADAME PRINCE 


265 


of mine,” who became later, “my gentleman friend,” 
and was eventually honoured with the title of “my 
fiance” ; he appeared to be one holding resolute 
opinions on most subjects, and it was evident that 
Miss Fox regarded his views with deference. Miss 
Fox’s aunt was still hopeful of securing a visit from 
Lady Chard; her most imploring messages were 
appeals that the call should on no account be made 
unexpectedly. Madame agreed to send the address 
on to Earl’s Court, and Phyllis, with her own way of 
doing things, did take the trouble to go to Crouch 
End; Miss Fox, admitting the good nature of the 
act, reported that nothing which misfortune could 
do had been absent, for Miss Fox’s aunt, at the time 
upstairs, heard the ring and assumed it was given 
by a persistent caller who had not yet relinquished 
the effort to induce her to subscribe to the parish 
magazine. Miss Fox’s aunt went down — “Just as 
she was, Madame!” — composing on the way some 
trenchant remarks to be addressed to those who select 
the wrong hour, and an insufficient excuse, for pulling 
at a bell; she had delivered the first of these before 
realising that a uniformed chauffeur stood at the door- 
way, and that a car was near the pavement with a 
young lady for occupant. The chauffeur put an inquiry. 
Miss Fox’s aunt, taken on the hop, as her niece ex- 
pressed it, said she would ascertain the information; 
returning to the door ten seconds later she expressed 
regret in announcing that her mistress was not in. 
Near the muslin curtains of the front room, Miss 
Fox’s aunt endured the mental agony of seeing the 
car drive away. Miss Fox invited Madame to estimate 
the perturbation caused, by the illustrative fact that 
on arrival at Crouch End that evening she discovered 
her aunt in the same outward condition that the visit 
had found her. “Face not done up,” said Miss Fox, 
tragically; “hair all anyhow!” Madame, to smooth 


266 


MADAME PRINCE 


over the disturbing episode, gave a vague promise 
that she herself would some day make a call at Crouch 
End, in the company, if possible, of her youngest 
daughter, and that due notice should be given. In 
return for this, Miss Fox’s aunt sent a grateful mes- 
sage, and a paragraph cut out of a journal in the hope 
that she might be the first to draw Madame’s attention 
to it. From information delivered with the message 
it appeared that the lady, an earnest patron and friend 
of literature, was in the habit of obtaining from the 
library in the Broadway, one novel for every week-day, 
and two for Sundays; her niece explained that owing 
to the possession of a useful gift, the title, author, and 
contents of a book were forgotten immediately after 
reading, so that it often happened the same volume was, 
in the absence of a warning from the library, perused, 
with fresh appetite, a second time. And here was the 
paragraph smoothed out and submitted. 

“We hear that in the autumn lists will be dis- 
covered a work of fiction by a new writer, Mr. Richard 
Hammond Prince. Mr. Prince is quite young, and his 
publishers believe that he is endowed with consider- 
able talent. We shall see.” 

“Is it any relation?” 

“My boy,” answered Madame. 

“Thought perhaps as you’d said nothing it might 
have been a secret.” 

“No secrets between him and me.” 

“I suppose not,” said Miss Fox. “But,” recovering 
from disappointment, “I’ll tell you what, Madame. 
I shan’t say anything beforehand, but when it comes 
out, I shall buy a copy, and I shall get you to have 
it signed by the writer, and then I shall give it, as a 
surprise to my fiance. Won’t it be a lark?” Madame 
that evening pasted the slip on one of the leaves 
in the locked up book. She stared at it, until her eyes 
became blurred. 


MADAME PRINCE 


267 


Miss Fox possessed, amongst other qualities, that 
of resolution; it served her well in business matters 
and any contract to which she put her hand was 
carried out and delivered at the specified date. 
On the subject of the visit to Crouch End she was 
persistent. Each morning she came with a new 
message; each evening, she begged for some word of 
hope to be taken home. Madame eventually took 
the step of writing to Phyllis, and received in answer 
a card. “Right you are, mother dear. Will call for 
you on Sunday afternoon next, and we will carry out 
our compunctious visiting. I need something to cheer 
me up.” From Ethel came news that P. H. had 
received assistance in the matter of introductions 
from Sir Ernest, who now, to P. H.’s surprise, de- 
manded payment of a commission. P. H.’s idea had 
been that it was to be considered a friendly act from 
one relative to another, but Ethel induced him to 
take more generous views, and a cheque had been sent. 
Ethel noticed that it was paid in to the bank on the 
very day of receipt. 

Phyllis had something to tell her mother as the car 
went along Hornsey Lane; Madame was delighted, 
and more than delighted, to hear the news, and said 
so. She had expected Ethel would be the first, but 
this had not happened. Madame declared herself 
old-fashioned enough to hold the view that perfect 
happiness was not possible in any household where 
there were not little people. Phyllis was hoping for a 
boy, and asked whether her mother was not pleased, 
years ago, when, after no less than three daughters, 
Richard arrived ; Madame pleaded that time con- 
trived to obscure some memories, and was giving 
advice, in an undertone, when the car turned into a 
road with small houses designed by an architect of 
limited invention. Miss Fox, at a gate, vanished on 
seeing them. A decent interval was allowed between 


MADAME PRINCE 


issue of the summons, and the putting in of appear- 
ance. 

“We’re simple people, Babs and me,” said Miss 
Fox, agitatedly and rapidly, “and you must take 
us, Lady Chard, as you find us; we don’t make any 
fuss over anyone who comes here, and if they don’t 
like it they have to do the other thing.” In the back 
room could be seen a table loaded from end to end, and 
side to side, with plates and dishes of food; it seemed 
as though the local confectioner had been put upon his 
mettle. “Babs is in here,” indicating the front room, 
“and oh, she will be so surprised to see you.” 

Miss Fox’s aunt, with a complexion intended to 
suggest a youthfulness that Nature never attempts, 
corroborated the suggestion of her niece: she had 
quite thought it was the following Sunday that was 
to be selected for the visit, and the callers were begged 
to take this as explanation of any signs of unpre- 
paredness. The lady took charge of Phyllis, engaging 
her in conversation on the subject, first, of royalty, 
and then, observing the due order of precedence, 
of smaller fry, such as duchesses, and the like. Miss 
Fox’s aunt was careful on the subject of dates, recalling 
nothing of her own knowledge, before the early 
eighties ; events prior to this date she had read about, 
or heard of, from a relative who lived in Portman 
Square. 

“I was in the very thick of it when I was a girl, 
Lady Chard, I do assure you,” said Miss Fox’s aunt. 
“Nearly everybody we knew at that time had a title 
of some sort or other.” 

“But how extremely gratifying,” remarked Phyllis. 

“Wasn’t it?” agreed the other. “My people 
used to take in the Morning Post , and I used to read 
out the fashionable intelligence, and they used to 
have something to say about nearly everybody. You 
won’t believe me, I know, but it’s a fact.” 


MADAME PRINCE 


269 


“Facts are just the very things I like to believe.” 

“Ran across a gentleman in a train on the Great 
Northern only the other day,” said Miss Fox’s aunt, 
volubly, and losing control of her refined accent. 
“Looked at him for a long time before I remembered 
he was once footman at that very house in Portman 
Square I was telling you about just now. And he 
says, ‘Hullo, Mabel, is that you?’ ” 

Miss Fox, at the other end of the room showing an 
album of views of Ramsgate to Madame, sniffed. 
Her aunt stopped. 

“And did you tell him?” asked Phyllis. A ring 
at the door saved the necessity of explanation. 

“Darling,” said the hostess to her niece, again 
speaking with precision, “that must I feel sure be 
your friend, Mr. Weatherley. How fortunate that he 
should call !” 

As the visitor came in, Madame was picking from 
the carpet some of the views for which, owing to over- 
crowding, no secure place had been found in the album. 
Phyllis, on the caller being introduced with elaboration, 
shook hands, and Weatherley expressed the hope that 
her ladyship was keeping fit and well. “And this,” 
said Miss Fox’s aunt more casually, “is Madame 
Prince, Lady Chard’s mother. Her name has occasion- 
ally been mentioned, I think, in conversation under this 
roof.” Madame nodded, and appeared to overlook the 
hand tendered. 

“ ’Pon my word,” said Weatherley to the hostess, 
“you’re looking younger than ever. Each time I 
meet you, you seem to have taken five years off your 
age.” 

“Flatterer,” said the lady, giving to his sleeve a 
gentle blow with her fan. 

“I shall see you being wheeled out in a pram 
before I’ve done,” he remarked. The lady appeared 
less gratified by this suggestion. “A bath chair, I 


270 


MADAME PRINCE 


mean,” he amended. Miss Fox’s aunt showed that 
this compliment, too, was lacking in some of the 
essentials. “Sisters,” he said, turning to Phyllis, 
with the air of a man not easily beaten. “That’s 
what people round here say of them who don’t know 
the exact relationship. Of course, those of us who are 
aware they’re aunt and niece have only got to reckon 
it out in our heads, and if one is twenty-six, and she’s 
that if she’s a day, why it stands to reason that the 

other ” Miss Fox’s aunt complained of a draught, 

and begged Mr. Weatherley to be so kind as to close 
the door. Miss Fox asked the company to excuse her 
whilst she engaged on the work of preparing tea. 
Weatherley lumbered over to the corner where Madame 
was seated. 

“This,” he said, “is an unexpected pleasure.” 

“You never were able to tell the truth,” she re- 
marked, keeping her voice down. 

“Think I planned it, do you? You’re under the 
impression that I knocked up an acquaintance with 
these parties here so as to find out something about 
you. Well,” frankly, “perhaps you’re right. But if 
you fancy that I’ve taken all this trouble for the pur- 
pose of finding out about my boy, you’re mistaken.” 

“Supposing you’ve decided, Sam Weatherley, not 
to interfere with him, you’re doing about the first 
sensible act of your life.” 

“You put an argument very awkwardly,” he com- 
plained. “I’m as well aware as you are that there’s 
no love lost between us, but you might at any rate 
give me credit for good intentions.” 

“There’s no earthly reason why I should.” 

“If you want to know — and it’s only your pride 
that prevents you from admitting it — I’ve found 
out a good deal concerning him, without your help. 
And so far as I can ascertain, he’s not, at the present 
time, in a position to assist anybody, and consequently 


MADAME PRINCE 


271 


I haven’t made myself known to him. If I had done, 
the result might have been that he’d have tried to 
borrow from me.” 

“A novel experience for you.” 

He frowned at her. “I’m saving up all the un- 
pleasant remarks you’ve ever said to me,” he declared. 
“And when the time comes for me to take action, 
you’ll find I shall pay you back with interest. You 
used to have a nice, lovable disposition, years ago, 
when I met you first. Now you’re as bitter and as 
ill-natured as you can be.” 

“Only to you!” 

“Reckon yourself lucky,” he said threateningly, 
“that I’ve refrained hitherto from making a call at 
your place of business, and getting some money out 
of you to pay me for keeping quiet.” 

“You haven’t the courage to do it,” challenged 
Madame warmly. “And I’d no more allow you to 
begin blackmailing ” 

Miss Fox’s aunt, discovering that Lady Chard was 
giving signs of weariness, left her and coming across 
asked, with a waggish air, what kind of soft nothings 
were being said. Without waiting for a reply, she 
spoke of the paragraph which had been forwarded 
for Madame’s inspection. “And it did refer to your 
son, then?” she remarked, inquiringly. Madame did 
not speak. 

“Answer her !” ordered Weatherley. Madame drew 
herself up. 

“It referred to my boy,” she said. 

Weatherley asked for information, and Miss Fox’s 
aunt remembered now that her niece had particularly 
directed her to say nothing to Mr. Weatherley 
concerning the book that had been written by 
young Mr. Prince. “I’m afraid,” she said affectedly, 
“that sometimes I let my tongue run away with 
me.” Weatherley said that he was prepared to 




MADAME PRINCE 


undertake that job, if no one else cared to try, and for 
this gallantry received another tap of the fan. 

Miss Fox and her aunt were distressed to find that 
two of their visitors had to leave without taking 
refreshment; Miss Fox, forgetting early statements, 
pleaded that Babs and herself had made special 
provision for the meal. Lady Chard said the car had 
to be placed at the disposal of her husband’s mother 
by the hour of half-past five. Weatherley remarked 
that time seemed to fly when one was in congenial 
company, and Miss Fox’s aunt urged that now Madame 
and her daughter had found the way to Crouch End, 
they should certainly come again. She apologised 
for the presence of no one more important than Mr. 
Weatherley, and declared that sometimes so many 
people called on a Sunday afternoon that there was 
not room to move. Quite a salon, said Miss Fox’s 
aunt. 

“Rather terrible people,” remarked Phyllis on the 
way. “The male person especially.” 

“A mixture,” said Madame, violently, “of a 
bully and a coward.” 

“Mother : your language is quaint and olden. 
This, surely, is a case of hate at first sight.” 

“Let’s try to forget about him,” she said. 

A brown paper parcel arrived on the morning of a 
day that began with an event that perturbed Madame. 
Miss Fox displayed with some ostentation her left 
hand, and finding no comment was made, called 
Madame’s attention to the new engagement ring. 
Mr. Weatherley, anxious that Miss Fox should have 
one that met her own excellent taste, had, it appeared, 
begged her to disregard the rules and to make her 
own selection and to pay the bill; he promised to 
settle later. Madame argued that Miss Fox would 
do well to find out something more of the past career 


MADAME PRINCE 


273 


and the present income of Mr. Weatherley be- 
fore taking a step that was to affect the whole of her 
life. The other had no doubts, and no fears, and men- 
tioned that the ceremony would not take place for some 
time to come. 

“Only it’s just as well,” explained Miss Fox, again 
admiring the ring, “just as well to make sure of your 
man. Otherwise, he’s likely to back out at any moment. 
But,” graciously, “I’m certain I needn’t tell you that.” 

“What did he say about me? Tell me, at once, 
what he said !” 

“Don’t get excited over simply nothing, Madame,” 
urged the other. “So far as I can recollect, all he 
said was that you reminded him of someone he used 
to be acquainted with, long ago, away in the country. 
You can take my word for it he didn’t say anything 
else. Why should he ?” 

The parcel remained on the writing desk in 
Madame’s own room, because there was much to do in 
regard to a wedding order. When, at eleven, she went 
in to address a label, the string was cut with the ex- 
pectations that a parcel of autumn catalogues might 
be found ; instead, there was a paper covered copy of 
a well-bound book with the title, and “By Richard 
Hammond Prince.” Madame was still gazing de- 
lightedly at the second page with its inscription, “To 
My Dear Mother,” when Miss Fox came in to see 
if the label was ready; together they looked through 
the pages. 

“You ought to be a proud woman, Madame.” 

“I am !” she nodded. 

The best of all was a note, found just as the brown 
paper was being folded to be placed in the cupboard. 
Richard said he had been waiting for copies before 
sending a letter to his mother, and he hoped she 
would excuse the delay. He wished, first of all, to 
apologise for the message left with Georgina. The 


274 


MADAME PRINCE 


firm to which he had offered his services had proved 
to be in the nature of a swindle; the demand for the 
birth certificate was only one of its many ingenious 
dodges to create an effect of solidity to which it 
had no good right. His mother, without knowing, 
had really done him a good turn by keeping back the 
document. 

“I hope you will like this story,” he went on, “al- 
though some of it may strike you as being rather in 
advance of views you hold. I have tried to describe 
some of the life of a youngster born out of wedlock, 
and to point out in this way the fact that there is now- 
adays none of the slur upon the child, and few of the 
drawbacks that existed, say, thirty or forty years ago. 
The book is not so good as I wanted it to be, but it is 
the best I can do, at present. 

“Please accept it and read it uncritically for the 
sake of the writer, who loves you. He has indeed 
never ceased to love you ; never failed in his gratitude 
to you. Other people pretend, now and again, to take 
an interest in him, but you are the one who always 
cared.” 

Aunt Emma admired the binding of the novel, but 
did not care to give an opinion on the contents of the 
book until she had read it, and this, as she said, might 
for her be the work of months. Aunt Emma had 
something to tell her sister; she could not for the 
moment recall the nature of the information. 

“Oh, I remember,” she said suddenly. “My Jim's 
been and drownded hisself. Drownded hisself in the 
Medway. Drownded hisself dead!” 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 


M ADAME and her sister were starting from 
Highgate Village to catch the eleven-eighteen 
from London Bridge, and with not a great 
deal of time to spare, when Richard bounced joyously 
and unexpectedly into the new showroom. On hear- 
ing the task that was before them, he announced an in- 
tention. 

“But it's giving up such a lot of your time, Richard.” 
“I know,” he replied. “I know, mother. Compensa- 
tion is that I shall be with you for a whole day.” 
“That’s where I shall get the pull,” she declared. 
“Besides,” Richard went on, “I may be able to 
work the scene into my next book. You haven’t 
had time yet to read the one I sent, I suppose? 
I’ve brought the first notice round to show you? 
It’s rather flattering, but you mustn’t let it influence 
< your opinion.” 

The review was studied in the train, and after 
Madame had, with great satisfaction, read it twice, 
Aunt Emma found spectacles and devoted the space 
from Grove Park to Sevenoaks to a perusal; she gave 
it back with the remark that no doubt the words meant 
something but they conveyed nothing to her. 

“I’m a bit dazed,” said Aunt Emma excusingly. 
“More to think about than my poor noddle can manage 
to hold!” Meanwhile the other two chatted about 
all that had occurred since Richard left home. Madame 
had much to tell of Hilborough and Ethel, of Chard 
and Phyllis, of Georgina and Mrs. Mirfield : she was 
275 


276 


MADAME PRINCE 


about to speak of the visit to Miss Fox’s aunt, but 
stopped and Richard then gave an animated account 
of his adventures with landladies and publishers. 
Madame, at the destination, said she had never before 
found the journey so short. “We seem to have only 
just left London,” she declared. 

David was waiting outside the booking office with 
a pony and trap; he chuckled at the sight of them, 
but, remembering, shook his head dolefully and said 
it was a bad business altogether, and he was jiggered 
if he knew sometimes whether he stood on his head 
or his heels. From him, and during the drive, Madame 
ascertained that in the month before the incident, 
luck, which had seemed a devoted companion to 
Jim Lambert, suddenly deserted in order to flirt with 
others. “Whereupon,” recited David formally, “he 
’pears to have made up his mind to go a reg-lar 
buster, backing ’orses for more than he’d ever done 
before, and none of ’em doing any good, and eventu- 
ally he must have recognised that he’d come a cropper. 
And he says to me, ‘David,’ he says, ‘I’m a-goin’ for 
a bit of a stroll,’ he says. And I says to him, ‘Shall 
you be gone long, master?’ And he makes answer 
in these words. ‘I may be gone,’ he says, ‘a trifle 
longer than what anyone expects.’ That were the 
remark he made to me. ‘I may be gone a trifle longer 
than what anyone expects.’ ” David repeated the 
phrase several times. 

Men stood near the trough, and the basket of hay 
in front of the Sidney Arms, apparelled in Sunday 
suits, and with the air of awkwardness that the gar- 
ments imposed ; the window of the ground floor 
was open, and earthenware mugs were being passed 
out. A reporter from Maidstone, smoking a dribbling 
cigarette, made notes of his conversation with the 
village constable, who, aided by a walking stick, 
drew illustrative diagrams on the dust — “S’posin’ 


MADAME PRINCE 


277 


this is a wilier tree, and this is where the old punt 
stands. The river gives a slightish bend like so, and 
there’s some osiers a-growing, as it might be here. 
Very well, then!” — going on with precision, and an 
interest encouraged by the hope that he would be 
referred to in Friday’s issue, as a highly efficient and 
undeniably capable police officer. The landlady 
came out and welcomed Madame and Aunt Emma, 
and Richard, and mentioned that you could not have 
wished for a more suitable day. She took them to 
her own sitting-room, begged they would make them- 
selves quite comfortable, and spoke of death by 
drowning with cheerfulness, asserting that it was the 
method of departure from life she herself would 
prefer. To a question from Richard, she, first apolo- 
gising for not recognising him — “ You’ve growed out 
of all knowledge, and that’s the truth!” — answered 
that the coroner had never yet been known to come 
to time, and there was no reason to assume that 
the present occasion would be an exception to the 
rule. 

Indeed, the hour fixed was long past, and Richard 
had suggested a visit to the churchyard ere Mr. 
Coroner, accompanied by his wife, drove up; the 
lady assured everyone within hearing, as she was 
assisted to alight, that there was no use in saying 
anything to her, for she, as a fact, had been kept 
waiting at home by her husband; in these circum- 
stances she argued that she could no more be cen- 
sured than the signpost of the Sidney Arms. An 
imperative order was brought, directing the jury to 
assemble in the clubroom without a moment’s further 
delay ; witnesses, directed the Coroner’s officer, were 
to stick close by him. 

“Gentlemen,” said the Coroner, adjusting pince-nez, 
and speaking briskly from his wooden chair at the 
top of the ring-marked table. “Sorry to keep you 


278 


MADAME PRINCE 


waiting, but my officer was under a misapprehension 
concerning the hour.” The officer, sorting witnesses 
on a long form, looked over his shoulders, and clicked 
tongue, as who should say, recklessly, “Go on! Go 
on!! Put it all on to me, as usual!” The Coroner, 
referring to notes, said this was one of the saddest 
cases he had ever come across. Here we had a greatly 
respected inhabitant who had lived in the village for 
a number of years, on good terms with his neighbours 
apparently, and, considering the difficulties existing 
in these days, in agricultural life, by no means badly 
off. Cheerful disposition, fairly regular habits. With- 
out a word of warning to anyone, he leaves the house 
at five o’clock in the evening — seven minutes past to 
be precise — and is never seen alive again. Later that 
evening, his body is taken out of the Medway. Not 
quite clear, seemingly, whether life was at that moment 
actually extinct; this was one of the matters the jury 
would have to investigate. The jury must dismiss 
from their minds, please, anything they might have 
heard of the case, and give all their attention to the 
evidence that would be brought before them. Call 
the first witness ! 

The first witness, brought into the room and directed 
to stand at the other end of the long table, said, falter- 
ingly, that her name was Emma Lambert. She had 
just been shown someone in the stables, and identified 
him as her husband. They had not been living to- 
gether lately. Her sister required her services up in 
London. She saw her husband for the last time a 
few weeks since. He appeared to be very happy. Said 
nothing about taking his life. Kissed her on saying 
good-bye. Very satisfactory, remarked the Coroner. 

The second witness gave his name as David Main- 
waring, and furnished evidence as a school lesson. 
His master had been more cheerfuller than usual. Up 
to the last month. In the last month, according 


MADAME PRINCE 


279 


to witness’s belief, his master had been somewhat 
unfortunate at the races. No, witness did not know 
this of his own knowledge. Mainly hearsay, so to 
speak. Excellent, excellent, said Mr. Coroner. 

Third witness, Job Hall. Job Hall was walking 
along the side of the river at about six o’clock on the 
evening in question; might have been a trifle more 
or a trifle less; he fixed the hour because it was at 
six o’clock he had to meet his young woman. Saw 
something amongst the osiers, and procuring a hop- 
pole, contrived to fish out, and bring it to the bank. 
Witness felt unable to say, for certain, whether Mr. 
Lambert was then dead; Mr. Lambert was breath- 
ing in a sort of a gurgle way. Witness, being himself 
no hand at doctoring, went on, and met his young 
woman, and presently, in the course of conversation, 
happened to mention the incident. His young woman 
left him hurriedly — “Like a flash o’ lightning,” com- 
plained witness — and ran to the house of P. C. Dy- 
mond. Good, said the Coroner. 

The Coroner, at the finish of this and other evidence, 
was reviewing with easy deliberation the statements 
made, and pointing out to the puzzled jury that a 
choice of two verdicts was offered to them where they 
obviously would have preferred but one, when his 
officer brought a whispered message; the Coroner’s 
lady wished to know whether she was to resign her- 
self to waiting all day. From this, the pace quickened 
into something like express speed. The foreman of 
the jury, standing up, said “Accidental drowning by 
death!” and received the shouted amendment from 
his colleagues with the sigh of a man who has com- 
mitted a verbal blunder of which he is likely to be re- 
minded while memories last. Aunt Emma, called 
again to the end of the table, was told by Mr. 
Coroner as he hurried out of the room, that she had 
the sympathy of all. 


280 


MADAME PRINCE 


Aunt Emma was taken home to the farm by David, 
after the landlady had given hearty congratulations 
on the satisfactory way in which everything had 
been managed, and Richard escorted Madame to 
the churchyard. They were watched in a regretful 
way by the members of the jury now outside the 
Sidney Arms : Richard went back and gave to one a 
half-crown piece to be expended on beer, and depres- 
sion vanished. In the churchyard the two found that 
shrubs within the iron railings were in a flourishing 
condition ; the tombstone recording the end of Richard 
Prince, aged fifty years, and Ethel Prince, aged forty- 
eight, and of Flora, unmarried daughter of the above, 
had nothing more than a touch of maturity. 

“Only eighteen,’’ remarked Richard. “Very young 
to give up. Was she a happy girl ?” 

“Always,” replied Madame. And added, “Up 
to the last year of her life.” Richard spoke of the 
affection held by monumental masons for capital 
letters, and scribbled a note on the back of an enve- 
lope. 

They walked through the village, after leaving the 
churchyard, and at cottages, where the doorway opened 
with no preliminaries of hall or passage to the front 
room, women, on catching sight of the pair ex- 
claimed, “Why, that’s never your son !” On receiving 
Madame’ s assurance, they declared, in complimen- 
tary tones, that if anyone else had made the 
statement they would not have credited it. They 
were frank in their inquiries concerning prog- 
ress, money earned, and anticipations for the 
future, and all spoke in high voices as though com- 
municating with distant shores; they thought it a 
deuce and all of a pity that poor Mr. Lambert had gone 
off so sudden like, hoped his poor wife would not 
trouble her head too much about it. If Madame and 
Richard had accepted the offers of cups and tea, and 


MADAME PRINCE 


281 


pieces of home-made cake, and the conversation 
attending the refreshments, their stay would have 
lasted for a week. The appeal that they would just 
glance at valuable and curious sets of mourning 
cards, pinned on the wall, was too urgent to be 
declined. 

“A book could be written about these people,” said 
Richard, as the two found a path that made a 
short cut for the farm. “Of course, one would have 
to invent the plot, because nothing dramatic ever 
happens here.” Madame began to refer to the case 
of Jim Lambert, but saw that Richard wanted to 
talk. “Say, a boy going away from these simple 
and leisurely surroundings, taking little notice, for 
years, of his parents, and then — happy ending you 
know — coming back and doing the right thing by 
his own people.” 

“Children don’t always do that,” said Madame; 
“but sometimes they do. Try not to walk too fast, 
Richard.” 

“Wish you were as well and strong as I am,” he 
said, giving her his arm. “I feel as fit as anything. 
My friend Dickson says this is the time when I ought 
to insure my life, if I do it at all.” 

“You’re young to be thinking about that.” 

“But Dickson’s a sensible chap, and a fore-seeing 
one too. He has joined the Honourable Artillery 
Company, and he wants me to do the same.” 

“There,” agreed Madame, “he is certainly right. 
You need all the drill and exercise you can get, dear, 
at your age.” 

“Whilst it’s in my mind,” helping her over a stile; 
“I shall want that birth certificate I asked you for 
some time ago. It appears I look rather younger 
than I really am.” 

There was a pause. “Plenty of elderberries about 
this year,” remarked Madame. “When I was a girl. 


282 


MADAME PRINCE 


I used to come along here and pick them. I can re- 
member the smell of the bruised ones.” 

"Post it on to me to-night. Directly you get back.” 

“Pm afraid — rather afraid it’s been lost/ 

Richard smiled indulgently. "A common error,” 
he said, "kept up in works of fiction because of its 
apparent usefulness in the case of wills, and other 
documents. You know where the registration took 
place, and if the original is mislaid, all you have to 
do is to send to the local authority. Or, I can get 
it myself for three or four shillings from Somerset 
House. I was born here, I suppose, mother?” 

"No!” 

"Where then?” 

"Maidstone,” she answered. 

"Didn’t know,” said Richard, sharply, "that you 
had ever lived there. What’s the mystery? What’s 
wrong?” They reached another stile, and he waited 
for her reply. 

"I’d better tell you,” said Madame : her voice 
quavered. "I’ve always recognised that you’d have 
to know one day, only I — I’ve put it off. That book 
of yours, my dear.” 

"Well, well?” 

"It’s dedicated to your mother.” 

"I did that,” he remarked, "to gratify you. And 
to please myself.” 

They crossed the stile. 

"The inscription,” Madame went on, "is not for 
me. It’s for a dear thing who died when she was 
quite young. Someone I loved more than I have loved 
anybody else in all my life.” 

"You mean your young sister, Flora?” Madame 
nodded. "And who was her husband?” 

"She hadn’t a husband.” 

"Who was my father, then?” Speaking loudly and 
commandingly. 


MADAME PRINCE 


“Your father, dear, was a man named Weatherley. 
He is still alive. I saw him not long ago. I don't 
think you’d care to meet him. Mr. Prince helped 
me greatly to hush up the scandal when it happened, 
but I remember he said at the time that it was bound 
to lead to trouble. Your mother died two days after 
you were born. No one here knew about you. I took 
a lot of care.” 

The young man had walked on slightly in front of 
Madame, whilst she was giving the information. 

“And so,” he remarked, over his shoulder, “you are 
not my mother.” 

“I hope,” she said, “that I’ve been something like 
one to you. I’ve tried hard.” 

He continued to keep ahead until they came in 
sight of the farm. “Go on and find my Aunt Emma — 
let me see,” he remarked with bitterness, “she is my 
aunt, isn’t she ? These dramatic disclosures are rather 
confusing — find her and bring her along to the station 
to catch the five-thirty.” 

“You’ll be wanting your tea, dear. Remember, 
you’ve had nothing since breakfast.” 

“Plenty of food for reflection, anyway,” he said 
curtly. And left her. 

Madame was at the station in good time for the 
train, and she was there alone. Aunt Emma had 
decided that her task was to remain at the farm, and 
to carry on the work, and, in her own phrase, 
made a do of it; she had already discovered an accu- 
mulation of unpaid bills ; letters which she had 
opened were mainly from racing folk demanding 
settlement of accounts. To Madame’s suggestion 
that advice should be taken ere these were met, Aunt 
Emma replied that all Milly had to do was to send 
down the tin trunk from Highgate, and to forward 
the money entrusted to her care, so that poor Jim, 
when placed in his grave, should not be restless at 


£84 MADAME PRINCE 


the thought of debts hanging over him. David was 
called in to support the argument of Madame, and 
proved of little use, in that he agreed heartily with 
the views held by both sides to the discussion, saying 
of the two ladies that they knew a jolly sight better 
about everything than he did. 

On the platform, Madame put an inquiry with some 
anxiety to the aloof station-master; the official said 
he had not seen the young gentleman. Becoming more 
communicative with an effort, he pointed out that, 
for himself, he had been engaged with the travelling 
auditor at the moment when the three fifty-eight left. 
“And my accounts came out right, within sixpence, 
they did. What do you think of that?” Madame was 
unable to affect a deep interest. “Stopped me, though, 
from putting in my usual work in the garden. I’m a 
lot fonder of my garden, I am, than what I am of 
my booking office. Shan’t be sorry when I can give 
up railway life.” Madame hoped he would soon 
achieve his ambition. 

Richard came up the slope of the platform as the 
arriving train passed the distant signal. He spoke 
quietly. 

“I want a cigarette.” 

“Don’t mind a smoking compartment in the least,” 
she said. 

“I’m going to travel alone,” he announced. 
“Haven’t quite finished thinking.” 

Madame obtained a corner seat and closed her 
eyes, with the result that fussy passengers, on the 
way, occasionally touched her arm and asked whether 
she desired to alight at the station which the train 
was approaching. Wide-awake, although eyelids 
were shut, Madame sent her thoughts back many 
years to the time when she travelled up on the North 
Kent line, carrying a small white bundle with great 
care ; Mr. Prince, she remembered, met her at London 


JMADAME PRINCE 


285 


Bridge and guided her to the new house in the north 
of London that had been taken during her absence 
at Maidstone. Madame could recall every curious 
inquiry made by the three little girls of her family, 
and especially by Ethel, and the reproof which had 
to be administered. “Little girls,” said Ethel’s 
father, warningly, “who don’t ask too many questions, 
won’t be told too many stories.” Georgina and 
Phyllis were quite content with the highly reasonable 
explanation that one could sometimes make a bargain 
with a country doctor, and purchase from him a 
baby far cheaper than you would obtain one in town. 
From this, Madame’s thoughts went to the pages in 
the locked book in her writing desk. To the item of 
expenses, doctors’ bills, school fees. To the entries 
there that helped to compensate ; from the copy 
of his first letter — pushed under the door of her bed- 
room on a birthday, wishing in the large capitals, 
for which he now criticised monumental masons, 
happy returns — to the book that he but yesterday 
had sent. At New Cross, she bestirred herself. 

. “After all,” sighed Madame, “it is what might 
have been expected.” 

He was at the carriage door at London Bridge, 
whilst she was endeavouring to find the handle. 
Her friend, Inspector Flint, wanted information, and 
as Madame gave this Richard stood aside. He 
gave up the tickets at the barrier; referred to the 
wasted return half that had been taken for Aunt 
Emma. She did not dare to speak. At the front of 
the station, they caught a Number Forty-three 
omnibus that was on the point of starting; Richard 
paid a penny for his own fare, fourpence for 
Madame’s. In crossing the bridge, he called atten- 
tion to the lights reflected in the river; mentioned 
that City traffic was over for the day. Near the 
Bank, he prepared to move. 


286 


MADAME PRINCE 


“Are you going to the funeral ?” he asked. 

“Your aunt thought it wouldn’t be necessary. 
And I’m rather busy, and I want to be making money 
just now.” 

The omnibus stopped: the conductor said, “Pas- 
sengers off first.” Richard bent and kissed her. 

“Good-night, my dear, dear mother !” he said. 

Madame sent a copy of Richard’s book to the local 
paper and contrived by a roundabout route to convey 
the information that the writer was formerly a resi- 
dent in Highgate Village; the journal wanted no 
more than this, and gave a review that would have 
flattered Dickens, and satisfied Bulwer Lytton. 
“Perhaps one of the greatest works of fiction ever 
offered to the British Public.” And, “A masterpiece 
in every sense of the word.” And, “The author may 
do as well in the future: we defy him to do better.” 
And “This is not talent; it is genius, and genius, 
we venture to say, of an uncommonly high order.” 
It seemed, even to Madame an error, not in fact but 
in discretion, to add, at the end, that author belonged 
to a family long established and highly respected 
in High Street, and well known to the many thousands 
who, each week, study those of our columns that 
furnish opportunities for publicity at the most reason- 
able rates. 

Other journals of a greater importance, gave out 
melted butter with a more sparing hand. To some 
which furnished nothing that could be looked upon 
as praise even by the most willing readers, Madame’s 
attention was called by friends and customers 
who said it was, of course, a shame that such 
things should be allowed to be printed, but being 
printed, they felt it right that Madame should 
see them. The Village itself clamoured for the book; 
names were entered at the library in a long row, and 


MADAME PRINCE 


287 


the proprietor of the establishment considered for 
some time the desperate expedient of obtaining an 
extra copy. In the main, it appeared, Highgate Village 
■set the book down with a feeling of disappoint- 
ment, and this was due, not to defects on the part 
of the writer but because The Village had entered upon 
•the task of reading with lofty expectations. What The 
Village hoped and looked for with confidence was that 
young Mr. Prince would have seized the oppor- 
tunity to take off — as it was phrased — to take off 
•certain of the residents. It would have been so easy. 
No reader wished to find himself or herself in the story, 
but it was not to be denied that there were eccentric 
folk in The Village whose presentation in a novel would 
be well justified, and also add to the interest of sane 
•and composed residents. The divisions of the sets, 
so Madame ascertained, varied. Miss A., devoted 
to preservation of the life of cats, and ever offering 
rewards for the detection of base criminals who 
brought them to a premature end — Miss A. could not 
understand why Mrs. B. had been left out. Mrs. B., 
active social worker, with a bill in her windows 
calling attention to a meeting, or a demonstration, 
and always appealing for signatures from petitioners 
who gave their word that they would ever pray — 
Mrs. B. considered it a pity that Miss A. did not 
figure in the book; had quite thought that Mr. C. 
(really the most amusing person, only that he did 
not know it) would be found there. Folk who attended 
church said Mr. Prince had missed a great oppor- 
tunity in omitting to give a good-natured caricature 
of certain Nonconformist types; the wife of a 
notable Congregationalist begged Madame to per- 
suade her son to put a certain curate into his next 
book. 

“Spectacles and all,” urged the lady. “Just for 
the fun of it. A hearty laugh does everyone good !” 


288 


MADAME PRINCE 


For the rest, Chard, who, owing to a slump of 
something, found he had. much time on his hands, 
said, by the intermediary of Phyllis, that the book 
was not at all bad; Hilborough told Ethel that he 
had believed in Richard from the very evening when 
he was first introduced to the family; Ewart thought 
the book Ai. A friend of Ewart’s had half a mind to 
purchase a copy. A friend of this friend mentioned 
that there was more money to be gained out of books 
than some people imagined. 

“A house in London,’’ reported this authority, 
“and a house in the country, and often as not, a little 
place up the river. And society welcoming them, so 
to speak, with open arms. All over ’em, in fact. 
Asked out to dinner every other night, and snap- 
shots in the halfpenny papers.” Ewart, in forwarding 
the statements, mentioned that the writing of novels 
seemed to him a jolly sight better than having to 
work for your income. 

Madame, reading the book carefully, missing no 
word and hardening herself against the temptation 
to glance prematurely at the last page, found her 
thoughts directed by an allusion here or by a scene 
there, back to the days when she had determined 
Richard should have the best education that 
could be afforded. Phyllis, too, had lived in an era of 
relative prosperity, and, as a consequence, was able 
to meet representatives of any class with compo- 
sure; in the case of Richard, here was tangible 
proof of the value of good schooling. There were 
words that Madame had not before encountered; she 
was forced to call in the frequent aid of Barclay’s 
Dictionary, newly revised by Woodward, B.A., and 
with a portrait of Queen Victoria that faced, with an 
interval of tissue paper, a steel engraving of the 
Horse Shoe Falls from the Canada side. Even the 
Rev. Barclay — counted in the day of Madame’s 


MADAME PRINCE 


289 


father (who, according to the elaborate inscription, 
had purchased the volume in ’63, and presented it 
to his Dear and Valued Wife, who would, no doubt, 
rather have had a new bonnet from Tunbridge Wells) 
as one to whom all words, and their meaning, were 
known — even Barclay did not include some that 
Richard used, and Madame’s admiration for the lad 
was increased by this. Foreign phrases too came, to 
Madame’s wonder; she took little account of a review 
which congratulated the author on achieving the 
hat trick, which, being translated for the benefit 
of those unacquainted with sport, meant, it appeared, 
that Richard had succeeded, on one page, in scoring 
incorrectly in three languages. 

There were delays in the reading. The book could 
not be taken up at meal times for fear that the cover, 
though doubly protected by paper, should become 
soiled. It scarcely looked well for one to be found by 
a customer, poring over a book of fiction ; the appren- 
tices were inclined to snatch furtive glances at the 
weekly magazines which they favoured, and reproofs 
were of no use if their example was imitated. So 
Madame read mainly of an evening, and when, one 
night, she came to the end and found, to her content, 
that everybody was happy, and most of the characters 
on the edge of getting married, and many quite well 
off, then she turned once more to the dedication. 

And pressed her lips to it gratefully. 

There could be no doubt concerning Miss Fox’s 
efficiency in the business. Members of the staff had 
not brought themselves to like her, and a lady de- 
scribed by the registry office as a cook general, who 
came to take the place of Aunt Emma, frankly 
declared that the very sight of Miss Fox, just before 
meals, was enough to put anyone off their feed. All 
the same, work entrusted to her supervision was done 


290 


MADAME PRINCE 


well, and — as already hinted — finished at the day 
and hour promised; a useful detail this with cus- 
tomers who, in the cases of even a trifling postpone- 
ment, were inclined to show indications of hysteria, 
and send messages by telephone in such a high scream 
that it was difficult to understand. Madame, very 
much alone at this time, found herself treating Miss 
Fox with a new friendliness, disclosing to her the 
position of finances, and describing some of the 
anxieties that would be likely to follow repayment to 
Aunt Emma. The manager of the local branch gave 
his help in the task of money transfer at the London 
end; Aunt Emma wrote, in acknowledging receipt, 
that she would have been at her wits’ end to know 
what to do with the cheque, only that the station- 
master very kindly walked over to the farm, between 
trains on Sunday, and offered his clerical services. 
(The Maidstone newspaper had given a column 
to the inquest, and in the ten lines devoted to the 
funeral, spoke of the late Mr. Lambert as one who, in 
his lifetime, by his genial manner, amiability, and 
bonhomie, had gained the sincere and heartfelt 
affection of a host of friends.) The station-master, 
it appeared, was strongly opposed to the settlement of 
Jim’s racing debts, and Aunt Emma seemed impressed 
by counsel given by a man in an official position. 
Consequent on the issue of the cheque, there came 
a period at High Street when accounts had to be sent 
out promptly, receipts paid into the bank without 
delay, the wholesale firm in Oxford Street exercised 
patience. Miss Fox ventured to congratulate her 
chief on the circumstances that none of the children 
were now a tax upon her. “Often wish they were,” 
said Madame, and Miss Fox expressed amazement at 
this remark. 

In review of the determination and business-like 
manner exhibited by Miss Fox, it surprised Madame 


MADAME PRINCE 


£91 


to find her one afternoon weeping silently as she 
sipped at her cup of tea. She put an inquiry. 

“A month ago/’ said Miss Fox, tearfully, “I couldn’t 
have told you. Now, Madame, you seem to be the 
only one I can confide in.” 

“Tell me, if you care to.” 

“It isn’t so much that I care to,” declared the other, 
“as it is that I’ve got to. If I don’t tell somebody 
I shall knock myself up.” 

“Is it about Mr. Weatherley?” 

“I know you don’t like him,” said Miss Fox, nodding, 
“but I never thought the time would come when I 
began to have my doubts. It’s all come on slowly 
and gradually, and the only way to explain it, Madame, 
is to begin at the beginning.” Miss Fox urging that 
she might not be too harshly judged, confessed that 
Mr. Weatherley had, at their first meeting, spoken 
without an introduction; she assured Madame that 
never in her life before had she taken the least notice 
of overtures of this nature, although, as she hastened 
to point out, it was not to be assumed that such 
offers had been altogether absent from her experience. 
But it had occurred to Miss Fox recently (and she 
blamed herself for not thinking of an earlier) that as 
Mr. Weatherley had approached her in this uncon- 
ventional way, he might have done the same to others 
on earlier and perhaps subsequent occasions, and in 
varying circumstances. Miss Fox’s theory — Madame, 
as the parent of no less than four children, would, she 
hoped, be able to understand — was that the two parties 
to a marriage should bring the same proportion of 
goodness to the making of the bargain. Herself as 
pure and white as the driven snow — 

“Not London snow,” explained Miss Fox. 

She did feel she had a right to expect the same qual- 
ities in her future partner. Madame thought this was 
asking far too much. Miss Fox considered she was 


292 


MADAME PRINCE 


asking for Only just enough; the fact that her aunt 
took the view suggested by Madame did but make 
her feel the more definite. Meanwhile, she had put 
the case into the hands of a private inquiry agent, 
whose advertisement she happened to notice im a 
Sunday journal, and who announced himself as 
able to trace Missing Parties, to collect Evidence for 
Divorce, to keep a watch on Suspected Individuals. 
And now Miss Fox was divided between the fear that 
awful news might come by any post — she had given 
the High Street address, in order to avoid alarming 
Babs — and the equally disturbing thought that the 
agent, having secured from her an initial fee of five 
guineas, would take no trouble in the matter. 

“Why not break off the engagement ?” asked 
Madame. 

“I should never get another chance,” replied Miss 
Fox, “and it might send him into an early grave.” 

“He’s over forty, if he’s a day.” 

“He’s in the prime of life,” said the other, defen- 
sively, “and I can’t in the least understand why 
you should make such a dead set against him. If 
it was anyone else but you, Madame, I should call 
it unkind. You seem to forget that not many of us 
are really perfect. If he’d only got money, you 
wouldn’t be arguing against him, in this fashion.” 
Miss Fox went on, and was presently regarding 
Weatherley as a hardly used person. The arrival of 
customers made it necessary to close the discussion. 

The assistants had left one evening, blinds on 
the ground floor were drawn, and Madame was think- 
ing of the solitary silent meal that would be hers, 
comparing it with the vivacious and joyful evenings 
which were the rule when her children were with her, 
when a bell upstairs rang, and rang again without 
disturbing her thoughts. The cook-general called 
out from the landing, “You’re wanted on the tele- 


MADAME PRINCE 


phone, Madame!” Madame ran up. A deep growling 
voice spoke. 

“Think you must be on the wrong number,” she 
said. “There’s no one here called Miller. Oh, I beg 
pardon. Milly. Yes, well,” sharply. “Who is it? 
What do you want ? Meet you on the Archway Bridge 
at half -past nine to-night? No, thank you. And 
bring ten pounds with me? A likely idea!” She 
caught some threatening words as she hung up the 
receiver. 

Over the meal, Madame changed her intention. It 
would be a mistake, surely, to let the man imagine 
that she was afraid to meet him; the evening was 
an empty one, and there was nothing to prevent her 
from going out. (Sometimes Madame’s loneliness 
was so acute at this hour that she felt inclined to 
think the company of Miss Warland, once single and 
a resident on these premises, would be better than 
none.) There was, somewhere in the office, an in- 
genious advertisement left by the dentist, having a 
resemblance to a Bank of England note and offering 
to pay a sum to anybody who could prove that the 
testimonials in favour of a certain hair tonic were 
not genuine; it would be a joke to give this, 
with an air of reluctance, at the close of the meeting. 

Weatherley stood on the high bridge that spanned 
Archway Road; he was gazing through the railings 
at the lights of the city below and beyond. He started, 
apprehensively, as Madame touched his shoulder. 

“Thought most likely you’d alter your mind,” he 
said, recovering composure. “Have you brought 
the money with you ?” 

“What do you want it for ?” 

“One subject at a time,” he ordered. “Hand over 
the cash, and we can cackle afterwards as much as 
you like.” 

“You don’t seem to realise that I have only to tell 


294 


MADAME PRINCE 


Miss Fox what I know of you, and there’ll be an end 
pf it.” 

He smiled pityingly. “To do that,” he said, “you’d 
have to mention other people’s names. Which wouldn’t 
suit you, not by a long chalk.” 

“Can’t see why not !” 

“If you had a brain,” declared Weatherley, “that 
could be called upon to exercise the proper functions 
,of a brain, you’d see that it meant bringing the boy 
into the discussion. And furthermore, it might — I 
don’t say it would, but it might — it might necessitate 
you, eventually, having to acknowledge to him that 
you are not his own mother, and that you’ve got no 
.sort of claim upon him.” 

“But I did that,” said Madame quietly, “some weeks 
ago.” 

Weatherley stamped to and fro on the pavement, 
disturbing the progress of folk coming from Hornsey 
Lane. She waited at the railings, and each time that 
he returned (sometimes after a brief altercation with 
a passer-by) he flung at her a new charge, a fresh 
denunciation. She had, by her infernal chatterbox 
behaviour, spoilt the whole show. She had, he declared, 
put both feet into it this time, and no mistake. He 
had planned everything, arranged everything, and now 
everything was, thanks to her, all upset. It was for 
him to settle when to make the disclosure to the boy, 
and he had intended to wait until the boy was flush 
of money, and, at the right moment, go for him, and 
make a bit. Weatherley said nothing would give 
him more pleasure than to take Madame up bodily 
and throw her clean over the parapet, and down into 
Archway Road; an alternative was to himself make 
the jump, and it seemed as though he felt unable 
to decide which of the two projects was the more 
attractive. A group of folk gathered to listen, 
Weatherley assured them that there was nothing of 


MADAME PRINCE 


295 


interest to see, nothing of importance to be listened 
to, but the spectators mentioned that their time was 
their own, and that assuming he did not own the 
bridge, they were inclined to stay there so long as 
they pleased. Weatherley moved away. 

“Don’t happen to have as much as ten pounds 
about you, I suppose?” asked Madame. He growled 
a retort. “In that case,” she said, “I shall have to give 
some information to Miss Fox in the morning.” 

A constable came along and advised Weatherley to 
see about getting home. “Before there’s trouble!” 
said the constable, meaningly. 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN 


A HURRIED departure for Earl’s Court pre- 
vented the making of any statement to Miss 
Fox; the announcement would have led to 
a prolonged discussion on the subject of men in general, 
and W eatherley in particular, and the summons 
from Chard was too urgent to suffer delay. At the 
flat, Madame was given into the charge of a nurse, 
who had so far taken control as to order the master 
of the household off to the City, and this in spite of 
a declaration that his services there, never indis- 
pensable, were now in less demand than ever. By 
nurse’s instructions, Madame waited in the drawing- 
room until the patient awoke. By her orders, the 
maids were going about slippered, and conversing 
in nothing louder than whispers. By her threats, 
children in the flat overhead, had suspended gym- 
nastic exercises. Madame, appalled by the other’s 
manner of authority, put a timid question which was 
not answered. As she rested on the cushioned settee 
in the drawing-room, Madame heard the sharp, little 
cry of the new member of the family; she flushed 
with delight at the thought that there would soon 
come the nearly forgotten sensation of holding a dear 
baby in her arms. Madame wished that nurse had 
replied to her inquiry. It seemed too much to hope 
that the infant was a boy. 

“Five minutes,” announced the masterful nurse. 
“No more.” Nurse appeared half inclined to com- 
mand that the stay in the next room should not be 
less than this period. 


296 


MADAME PRINCE 


297 


Madame went on tiptoe around the screen. 

“Dear mother,” said Phyllis, raising her hand from 
the quilt. “You are the only person I want to see.” 

She looked girlish with her hair done in two plaits. 
“Weren’t you pleased to hear the news?” 

“As though you need ask me!” protested Madame. 
“Is it — is it a jolly little baby girl?” 

“No!” 

“They often improve,” she argued, “as they go 
on. I remember your sister Ethel— ” 

“It’s a jolly little baby boy.” 

“Just what I’ve been hoping. And he’ll come into 
the title, later on.” Phyllis nodded. “And the money.” 

“You are trying to make me smile,” declared the 
baby’s mother. 

“My dear love, I wouldn’t do that for a pension. 
But I meant it, all the same.” 

“So far as I can see,” remarked Phyllis, “he will 
get from his distinguished but unthrifty parents 
nothing but an interesting collection of unpaid 
accounts. I used to look on tradesmen’s debts, when 
I was first married, as rather a joke. I wish I could 
now. I have bills for breakfast, and lunch, and dinner. 
I could repaper the flat with them. Our postmen 
are growing bent and old with the task of delivering 
them. The letter-box complains of being overcrowded. 
The clerk at the County Court treats Ernest as a 
brother: they are wellnigh inseparable.” 

“Can I see the dear mite ?” 

The white bundle produced, seemed to take small 
interest in grandmothers ; Madame took him in 
her arms and atoned for the disturbance by singing 
to him. 

“Hush a bye baby, 

On the tree top, 

When the tree falls, 

The baby will drop.” 


298 


MADAME PRINCE 


Master Chard seemed distressed by this painful 
incident, and contorted features to express either 
an indication of sympathy, or a prelude to tears. 
Madame changed her song to — 

“There was a little man, 

And he had a little gun.” 

And this proved the more successful item. 

“Go away, nurse,” commanded Phyllis. 

“Beg pardon, my lady, but ” 

“There’s a draught,” said the patient. “Go away, 
and close the door after you.” The nurse obeyed. 

“Aren’t you afraid of her?” inquired Madame. 

“Courage mounteth with occasion,” said Phyllis. 
“She terrified me at first, but I discovered this was 
the only time she had been privileged to attend upon 
any but the untitled. I used that for all it was worth. 
I clubbed her into submission with the baronetcy. 
I dazed her with the suggestion that all the people 
Debrett knows, know me. She has gained the impres- 
sion, poor wench, that I am a society success.” 

“I take it,” said Madame, “that you do get 
acquainted with a large number of rather smart 
people ?” 

“My closest friend is a woman who keeps a 
second-hand clothes shop near Hammersmith Broad- 
way, and makes a living out of it.” 

“I never feel sure how much I ought to take in 
of what you say.” 

“You can believe that,” said Phyllis. 

Master Chard was well asleep again, and Madame, 
with a light kiss on one of his droll little hands, set 
him very gently in his cot. Phyllis was informed 
of the news of the day; Uncle Jim’s departure from 
life, the cook-general at Highgate, new and promising 
customers there. Phyllis had read Richard’s book 
and had sent him a note of congratulation; to her 


MADAME PRINCE 


299 


mother she admitted that she considered it to possess 
the defects of infancy. Richard would do better 
when he knew more of the world. The letter acknowl- 
edging her note mentioned that Richard was receiving 
compliments from all sorts of unknown admirers; 
he enclosed, as a specimen, one dated from Crouch 
End, and signed “Amelia Fox.” Miss Fox's aunt 
said that she was a veracious reader — which was appar- 
ently not quite the adjective she intended to use — 
and she had never before read a novel which dis- 
played so well the innermost workings of the human 
heart. 

Miss Fox returned late one evening to High Street, 
begging in a piteous way that Madame would give 
her shelter for the night. No food was required, 
but just a roof to cover her head. When talk 
reached the stage of coherency, it was ascertained 
that the house at Crouch End, left that morning 
crowded with furniture, and in the charge of the aunt, 
had been found, on the return, empty. Absolutely 
and entirely empty. A neighbour at Number Thirty- 
nine, not hitherto treated with anything but silent 
contempt, told Miss Fox that she had witnessed the 
day’s proceedings, and was, in consequence, somewhat 
behind with housework ; she consented, on the 
grounds that one might as well be hanged for a sheep 
as for a lamb, to a further delay of domestic tasks. 
A van had called, soon after Miss Fox left. It made 
three journeys to the local auction rooms. The gentle- 
man — or whatever you liked to call him — came in 
a taxi-cab. The neighbour, managing to snatch a 
few moments of conversation with the driver, ascer- 
tained that the cab was presently to make its way 
to the London Docks. The neighbour took some credit 
to herself for hopping back to her house just as 
Miss Fox’s aunt and the other party came out of 


300 


MADAME PRINCE 


Thirty-eight, each carrying one end of a large travel- 
ling trunk. 

“And that’s all,” said Miss Fox, desolately. 

“If you ask me,” said Madame, “I think you are 
well rid of him.” 

“Don’t speak ill of the absent,” urged the other. 
“It’s a good deal my fault. I’ve saved up a pretty 
tidy amount, and if I’d been wise, and if I’d been 
tactful, I should have mentioned the exact sum to 
him. Only that, girl-like, I wanted to be loved for 
myself alone.” 

“He’s vanished now, at any rate.” 

“I shall always treasure him fondly,” declared 
Miss Fox, “so long as memory draws its breath.” 
She changed this view later, when an ample and fully 
detailed account came from the inquiry agents that 
gave some incidents in Weatherley’s career in recent 
years. 

Events at Highgate Village began to crowd so 
much as to imperil the comfort of each other’s heels. 
A tradesman’s wife had twins, and this aroused a 
lively interest until Lady Chard brought her baby, 
and a few privileged matrons were permitted to view 
the infant; they were amazed to hear that Lady 
Chard was herself feeding the youngster, and later 
and privately, found explanations of this in the cir- 
cumstance that Madame’s daughter, although married 
into the aristocracy, did not, as a fact, belong to it. 
All the same, they admitted that here was a subject 
of importance that twins, born over a shop, could 
not claim. Georgina called as the car was leaving, 
and taking but little notice of the baby when in- 
formed of its sex, spoke volubly. She had left Mrs. 
Mirfield. Mrs. Mirfield had proved to be quite common, 
almost vulgar, and so incapable as to fail to learn by 
heart the speeches which Georgina wrote for her; 
after the row that took place, Mr. Mirfield tried to 


MADAME PRINCE 


301 


comfort Georgina by placing his arm around her 
waist. “That settled it!” said the now determined 
young woman. She was at present engaged as secre- 
tary to an Anti-Something Society; she wished 
Phyllis to become one of the vice-presidents, and she 
had called at High Street to induce her mother to 
give addresses of all the ladies on the books, 
.because the Anti-Something Society was one that 
appealed to the best instincts of all right thinking 
women. Georgina chattered of nothing but the 
society, and the society’s prospects, and the effect on 
the world that the society was going to make, and 
went eventually, leaving the impression upon Madame’s 
mind that a rather aggressive stranger, of consider- 
able powers of speech, had been entertained. 

Came to High Street also, Peter Hilborough. Alert, 
business-like, and with a courtesy of manner which 
showed that upon him, too, change was performing 
its amazing tricks. He stayed but a few minutes, 
and Madame found the brief space well packed with 
contentment. Hilborough brought excellent reports 
of the year’s working; his partner’s motor-cycle 
had been spoken of favourably by a representative 
of the War Office; and a contract was hoped for and 
expected. Those who knew were saying that there 
.was trouble coming on the Continent, and if there 
was to be fighting, why despatch riders would be 
needed, and they would want machines to ride upon, 
and that was where Hilborough and Ewart might 
come in. A statement of accounts was handed 
over— 

“We should like you to get someone to verify them, 
Madame. Someone representing yourself !” 

— And a cheque that caused Madame to give a 
gasp of delight. Ethel sent her love, and hoped to 
call soon; just now, she was house-hunting at Pinner. 
Hilborough hoped that district would have a beneficial 


302 


MADAME PRINCE 


effect upon her health, and enable her to make the 
acquaintance of desirable people. 

“Most refined,” Miss Fox said of him when he 
had gone, “and evidently comes of a good stock. 
But he was wrong, Madame, about the Continent. 
You mustn’t tell me that in the present year, Anno 
Domini nineteen hundred and fourteen, there’s going 
to be anything like a big war. Oh, dear me no! I 
asked a German baker about it, down in Junction 
Road only the other day, and he said the idea was 
simply ridiculous.” 

Miss Fox gave occasional hints concerning the diffi- 
culty of finding rooms suitable for a lady who took 
a pride in herself, and ready to confess that what 
might be quite good enough for some people was by 
no means good enough for her. She made a great 
effort to be amiable to everybody; Miss Bushell 
admitted privately to Miss Lilley that the Vixen 
could be pleasant when she liked. At the most favour- 
able opportunity when gratifying news had come of 
Phyllis’s return to perfect health, Miss Fox submitted 
her application. Would Madame allow her to stay 
on, occupying the room that gave so much comfort, 
and in the company of one who understood her as 
nobody had ever done before? Madame was not quite 
sure. Madame’s idea was that two people, engaged in 
business throughout the day, were wise to keep apart 
from each other in hours of leisure. Miss Fox seemed 
encouraged rather than deterred by this: she talked 
and harried, and pleaded, and threatened — speaking 
darkly on one occasion of the opportunities that 
the lake in Waterlow Park offered as an aid to closing 
a life that was bereft of friends — and eventually 
Madame gave in. 

“But you must behave yourself,” she added. Miss 
Fox was shocked that it was thought necessary to 
say this. “There must be no interference with house- 


MADAME PRINCE 


303 


hold matters/’ Miss Fox declared nothing was further 
from her thoughts. “And if the plan doesn’t work, 
you’ll have to find rooms of some kind or other, 
elsewhere.” Miss Fox said it was impossible that a 
contingency of this nature would arise. This happened 
in July. Early in July. 

On the day the arrangement was made, Phyllis 
came, not in the car this time, but by tube and tram; 
she had the company of her infant son, but no nurse. 
For half an hour she sat in the showroom holding a 
reception of folk who left the mental anxieties of 
.selecting hats intended for the better enjoyment 
of holidays by the sea, in order to talk with Lady 
Chard. They hoped and trusted Sir Ernest enjoyed 
the best of health, and purred with satisfaction on 
hearing that Phyllis’s husband was well. Did he — 
if it was not an impertinence to ask, and putting the 
question with an evident desire to obtain society 
news not to be discovered in print — did he intend to 
go anywhere for a change this year? Phyllis thought 
he would probably go abroad. The customers sub- 
mitted this entailed a long journey for a little one to 
take; Phyllis considered it possible she and the baby 
might not go with Sir Ernest. The news agitated the 
ladies; they returned to the task of making a choice 
in fashions with a perplexed air. The most venture- 
some of the party took courage in both hands before 
leaving, and put a definite question. 

“No,” said Phyllis. Her usual readiness of speech 
seemed to be missing. “It doesn’t mean that I am 
going to get a divorce.” 

The ladies went, evidently dispirited by the infor- 
mation. Madame came across to kiss the baby, and 
to apologise for the curiosity shown. She wondered 
that Phyllis had not answered them in a sharp manner. 

“One must keep on good terms with them, mother.” 

“I have to,” said Madame, “but there’s no reason. 


304 


MADAME PRINCE 


my dear, why you should. Inquisitive lot of busy- 
bodies” She turned her attention again to the boy, 
and told him he was not to take the least notice of 
anything he saw or heard when he called on a dress- 
maker, otherwise he would get to know a great deal 
too much, and that, of course, was no good to anybody. 
The young man seemed inclined to be tearful over this 
address, but brightened on being called a wicked old 
scamp of a gentleman. 

“Mother,” said Phyllis quietly. “Let me tell you 
something and get it over. Ernest has got into a 
dreadful muddle in the City. Some men, a deal 
cleverer than he, have been making use of him and 
his name. He has caught this morning’s boat from 
Southampton.” 

Madame gave an ejaculation of concern and sym- 
pathy. 

“I’ve sent off the maids,” Phyllis went on, “and 
locked up the flat. Everything will have to be sold. 
I want to burden you with my presence again.” 

“I hope you know, my dear, how glad and more 
than glad I am to have you with me.” 

“Then we won’t bother our heads too much about 
what has happened. Let me thank you now for being 
good to me.” Madame bent down to receive her 
daughter’s embrace. “I haven’t made a success of 
my married life. Ethel has.” 

“Ethel had raw material to work upon,” said 
Madame ; “you had none.” 

Miss Fox said that a bargain was a bargain, and 
that Lady Chard could easily take the smaller bedroom, 
and not evict Miss Fox from the apartment to which 
she had become accustomed; all the same, Miss Fox 
found herself transferred, and without a moment’s 
delay, took up an attitude of ceaseless and active 
opposition. The capable servant in the kitchen 
announced that the house was not big enough to hold 


MADAME PRINCE 


305 


Miss Fox as well as herself. Miss Bushell, after a long 
and spirited argument with Miss Fox, went into 
a faint, and recovering, called feebly for the presence 
and aid of someone named Harold. Miss Lilley said 
that she, for her part, would sell bootlaces outside 
the Roman Catholic Church, rather than live the life 
she was now living. The mother of one of the appren- 
tices called, and declaring there was no grievance 
against Madame 

“My girl says no one could be kinder, or more con- 
siderate !” 

— Engaged Miss Fox in a verbal duel, and with the 
aid of ammunition of a highly explosive character, 
which the other said no lady would ever use, was able 
to announce herself as victor, and, at Madame’s 
request, left, giving the promise to her opponent 
— referring apparently to the nouns and adjectives 
fired — that there were more where they came from. 
Miss Fox, rearranging her line of attack, brought all 
her forces to bear upon Madame’s daughter. Phyllis 
took the onslaught coolly. Madame came on the scene 
as Miss Fox was alluding to the disturbing presence 
in the house of what she called a poor little fatherless 
brat, and Madame gave directions that Miss Fox 
should enter the office. 

“There’s your money,” said Madame. “And a 
month’s salary in place of notice. You’re a good 
worker, but you’re about the most difficult woman to 
live with that I’ve ever run up against.” 

“Everybody’s hand is against me,” wailed the 
other, “and I haven’t a friend in the world. Do over- 
look it, Madame, and let’s start afresh on a new 
footing.” 

“The new footing,” said Madame definitely, 
“would soon be a good deal like the old.” 

“I’m appealing to your heart,” cried Miss Fox. 

“And I’m answering with my head.” 


306 


MADAME PRINCE 


“Very well then,” remarked the young woman, 
with a sudden change of manner, “I shall simply go 
di — rect from here, and consult my solicitor. You 
needn’t imagine you’ve heard the last of me. I’m no 
fool, mind you. I’ve downed a lot of people in my 
day,” Miss Fox seemed to be lapsing into collo- 
quialisms, “and take my word for it, I’ll down you 
before I’m many days older. You’ll laugh on the wrong 
side of your face by the time I’ve done with you !” 

“Get away, sharp!” ordered Madame. 

Miss Fox kept her word in so far as a part of her 
threats were concerned; it could not be said that 
she achieved all of them. First, came from her a 
note apologising to Madame for anything said in 
the heat of the moment. Miss Fox had no quarrel 
with Madame, and desired to make this clear, in case 
it was not already evident. No reply was sent. The 
later part of July was occupied with notes from the 
lady. Phyllis had taken the vacant position; calm 
in the establishment was restored, cook made up some 
lines concerning the departed autocrat, fitting them 
to the tune of, “Oh, you beautiful doll!” The baby 
took the air, with regularity, in Waterlow Park. The 
young ladies spoke of the leisureliness of the coming 
month, and their own holidays. On the Friday before 
the Bank Holiday, Richard called in uniform. His 
regiment was going into camp in Essex. 

Whilst Phyllis’s baby was pulling at the brass 
letters, H.A.C., on his shoulder, Miss Fox arrived, 
accompanied by a gentleman of severe aspect. Madame 
went downstairs to receive them, and came back 
with the news that Miss Fox, urging that bygones 
should be looked upon as bygones, wished, in the 
presence of her legal adviser to make an offer for the 
business as it stood ; contents, goodwill, everything. 

“Take it, mother,” advised Richard, after listening. 
“Don’t haggle about it, but just accept it. That will 


MADAME PRINCE 


307 


make them imagine they could have got it for less. 
We’ll find a jolly little house — you, and Phyllis and 
this young athlete here, and myself — and we’ll all 
live together, and be happy.” 

“You’ve done your fair share of work,” counselled 
Phyllis. “More than your share. Here’s a chance 
of getting some happiness, mother dear, into your life. 
(Richard; if the boy is worrying you, let me have 
him.)” 

They had a show of hands, Madame not voting; 
the baby was induced, out of affection for the army, 
to swell the majority to three. Downstairs, Madame 
signed papers; Miss Fox signed papers. The business 
was to be transferred in a month’s time. Miss Fox 
said there was nothing like having it all drawn up 
in proper form, for that stopped anything like hanky- 
panky, or dodging, or backing out. A cheque on 
account was handed over. 

Miss Fox some weeks later, had furnished herself, in 
an outer office in Carey Street, Loncoln’s Inn, with 
three handkerchiefs to wipe away tears that she 
reckoned inevitable. Madame had been requested, 
in courteous terms, to be present. 

“All you can do,” the solicitor had remarked, 
“is to throw yourself on her mercy.” 

“Why, why,” cried Miss Fox, “was I ever born?” 
The man of the law seemed to consider that this was 
not, strictly speaking, a legal matter; he offered no 
opinion. Within half an hour, Madame and Miss Fox 
were saying good-bye at the Holborn end of Chancery 
Lane. Miss Fox, full of gratitude, hoped she might 
venture to suggest a glass of port and a biscuit; 
Madame was not in need of refreshment. 

“I shall never forget it,” declared Miss Fox, 
“never! I think the way you’ve treated me is simply 
noble. I do indeed. Of course, there won’t be a penny 


508 


MADAME PRINCE 


to be made in the dressmaking line whilst the war is 
on, and if you hadn’t agreed to let me off, I might 
have lost all I’ve saved. You had the chance of having 
me on toast, and you declined to take advantage of 
it. Won’t you try a glass of sherry?” Madame shook 
her head. “I was quite prepared, you know, to pay 
a lump sum to forfeit the agreement. And didn’t you 
have an idea of taking a house somewhere ?” 

“My dear boy is going out soon with his Company,” 
said Madame, quietly. “I shall be glad, to tell you 
the truth, of uphill work at Highgate Village to occupy 
my mind whilst he’s away.” 

“Shocking thing, war,” remarked the other. “So 
upsetting to business. What about a small glass of 
champagne?” Madame shook her head. “Can I 
tempt you with ginger wine?” 

“Thank you, no!” 

“Madame,” declared Miss Fox speaking with emo- 
tion, “you’re an angel. How long d’you think the 
fighting’s going to last? I give it six months. Six 
months, I think, ought to be ample !” 


CHAPTER FIFTEEN 

A YEAR had passed since the breaking Qut of 
the war — a year, short of two days, to be 
exact — and those who, like Miss Fox, had 
prophesied that the struggle would be of brief duration 
were now saying it might, so far as they could see, 
last for ever; folk who had taken, at the start, less 
hopeful views, were, their original pessimism justified 
by events, declaring the opinion that peace would 
be made before Christmas came round. Highgate 
Village, lofty and detached as it was, had done its 
share, paid its due. There were fewer young men to 
be seen; lawn-tennis clubs found themselves com- 
posed of girls and a few fathers ; one or two shops in 
High Street were to let. All the social movements 
of the neighbourhood had long since given up their 
first intentions, and now worked for the aid of men 
,who were on active service. Certain unexpected things 
had occurred, and residents who counted frankness 
amongst their qualities, could, in looking back, see 
how often they had been wrong in regard to small 
details. For instance, it was whispered up and down 
the main street in the later part of the previous year 
that Madame Prince’s establishment was bound to go 
under; morally bound, said the resolute, to emphasise 
the statement, morally and physically bound. Neigh- 
bouring shopkeepers expressed regret, but could not for 
the life of them see how Madame was to weather the 
storm. They speculated on the amount for which 
Madame would fail, guessed at the identity of parties 
309 


310 


MADAME PRINCE 


who would be let in over the bankruptcy. Yet here 
was the shop window, with a bright scheme of back- 
ground in yellow silk, discreetly set-out specimens 
of fashions in hats (not too many of them, and this 
gave the impression that you had better hurry up 
and secure a bargain ere some more energetic cus- 
tomer anticipated you) and Madame, herself on this 
Saturday afternoon at the very end of July, stood in 
the pleasant shade that, at the hour, favoured her 
side of High Street. She nodded brightly to acquaint- 
ances who went by, and now and again ventured 
to the edge of the pavement to take a look in a south- 
easterly direction. A uniformed boy on a bicycle — 
made by the firm of Hilborough and Ewart, and fur- 
nished with a tray to carry cardboard boxes — wheeled 
his machine around smartly, touched the peak of his 
cap. 

“Anything else you want me for, Madame?” 

“Nothing else, William,” she said. “Take the 
bicycle through and put it in the shed. Hope you’ll 
enjoy your Monday off.” 

“Trust me!” remarked the lad. 

“Going far?” 

“Hadley Woods is my destination, if all goes well.” 

“Alone?” 

“With my company of Scouts,” he said, impor- 
tantly. “We shall put in a pretty thick day of it. 
I don’t give ’em no rest when I’m amongst ’em.” 
He disappeared, and returned wearing a bowler hat 
that tempered the uniform of servitude. “There’s 
a flat hamper just inside,” he mentioned. “That 
isn’t anything you want delivered, Madame?” Her 
answer removed his look of apprehension. “Afraid 
perhaps it might have been overlooked. Although 
that kind o’ thing don’t often happen here. Now 
the situation I was in last ” 

The arriving tramcar interrupted reminiscences. 


MADAME PRINCE 


311 


Madame caught sight of three passengers; an ex- 
cited waving of hands ensued; as the car went 
on to the terminus, Madame ran into the shop and 
called. 

“Phyllis, dear, they've come !” 

“The celebrated Prince Troupe !" said Phyllis, 
descending the staircase, “in their diverting extrav- 
aganza called, ‘Our Annual Beanfeast.' Wonder 
how we shall get along together? We're a difficult 
lot to manage." 

“I never found any of you so." 

“Winsome flatterer," said Phyllis, pinching her 
mother’s ear. She was dressed in black and seemed 
to be keeping up cheeriness with just a suspicion of 
effort. “The Brigadier is asleep in his cot," she went 
on. “He’ll wake up at half-past three." 

“I’ll be on the look out," promised Madame. 

The others came in, chattering as they entered. 
Richard, in khaki, limped slightly ; he assured Madame 
and Phyllis he was improving at a speed that was little 
short of miraculous. Georgina wore a medal in the 
button-hole of her light coat, an indication of the 
work in which she now took a share. Ethel had 
brought a Noah’s Ark for Phyllis’s boy. 

“Now, you needn’t stop,” ordered Madame. “Get 
off, and make the most of the sunshine, and come back 
when you like. I want to have a good talk with all 
of you, but that can wait." 

“You won’t be lonely?" inquired Georgina, 
solicitously. 

“I’m quite willing," offered Ethel, “to stay here 
and look after the baby.” 

“It’s all a deeply laid scheme of mother’s," said 
Phyllis, “to get my son to herself, and do her best 
to bring him up as a scholar and a gentleman." 

“He’s a jolly little kid," declared Madame, “and 
chance it !" 


312 


MADAME PRINCE 


William, unwilling to tear himself away from the 
interests of business, offered his services as Richard 
and Georgina came out with the flat basket; his aid 
was at first declined but Phyllis said that this was 
William’s opportunity for doing his one kind action 
per day, and the basket was entrusted to his shoulders. 

“Thank you, my lady,” said the boy gratefully. 
They went across in the direction of South wood 
Lane. 

The Brigadier aroused himself with military preci- 
sion at the hour that had been mentioned, and his 
authoritative cry of “Gan — ma!” went through the 
house. Miss Bushell said, “That’s baby, Madame!” 
but Madame was already up the second staircase, calling 
out on the way remarks intended to soothe the young 
at periods of agitation. The Brigadier was assured 
he was the goodest little baby that ever was, and the 
splendidest; he took the compliments as a right, and 
on being taken from his cot, pointed out various 
articles of property belonging to himself, mainly of 
a war-like nature as befitted the times: a gun, a 
Union Jack, a drum, a helmet (“Made in Great 
Britain”), a bugle. With some of these he insisted 
on playing, and Madame had to sit upon the linoleum 
covered floor, and give her celebrated and highly 
successful impersonation of a little girl of about 
Master Ernest’s age, whose name was, it appeared, 
Milly. Leaving this character, Madame was presently 
called on to be one of Kitchener’s recruits, and obey 
commands issued by the youngster in a deep voice 
and a dogmatic manner; some would have experi- 
enced trouble owing to a certain want of lucidity 
in the orders, but Madame knew what was intended, 
and when doubt happened to come in, saluted smartly, 
an indication of respect that gratified the Brigadier, 
enabling him to feel that rank in the army did count 
for something. The two had races after this — the 


MADAME PRINCE 


313 


young man was not yet a slave to concentration of 
the intellect — and in these Madame was handicapped 
partly by want of exercise in going on all fours, partly 
by the fact that her competitor’s forces were, so to 
speak, more mobile; changing the objective he could 
right-about quickly, and make progress before 
Madame had effected the turning movement. Anyhow, 
he always won, and the sport came to an end only when 
the Brigadier, not unmindful of the circumstance 
that an army must be fed, conveyed his wishes 
by smacking lips, and going through the pantomime 
of drinking. 

The maid was taking the week with her people as 
a reward for hard work, and fidelity, and especially 
for comfort given at the time when Richard’s name 
appeared in the casualty list. In her absence Madame, 
first setting the Brigadier in his high chair and fasten- 
ing the guard carefully, made tea for herself and for 
the assistants below, now clearing up, and preparing 
to leave early; prepared hot milk for her companion, 
who was kicking his fat little legs with impatience 
at the thought that women should be served before 
men, folded bread and butter for him, and argued 
the old, old question ; he gesticulated a good deal in 
offering his views that cake should come first, but 
gave in, rather handsomely, when a speck of marma- 
lade was superimposed on the butter. At the end 
of the meal, he put chubby hands together, and 
Madame thanked God for his good tea, Amen. The 
Brigadier intimated that he was now prepared to 
resume organised games. The young ladies came 
upstairs to bid good evening to Madame, and to 
endeavour to wheedle the youth into showing some 
special favour; he blew a kiss casually and pointed 
to the door. Miss Bushell called him a heartless 
flirt, and threatened to find another sweetheart. He 
appeared exempt from the stabs of jealousy. 


314 


MADAME PRINCE 


The picnic party returned at six o’clock, well content 
with their outing in Queen’s Wood; on Phyllis’s sug- 
gestion, they had, it seemed, played at being little chil- 
dren again, to the amazement of middle-aged 
lookers-on who apparently suspected an escape from 
Colney Hatch. Phyllis took charge of the Brigadier, 
and would accept no help in the task of putting him 
to bed; Ethel looked on rather wistfully as Phyllis 
carried the baby around to make his farewell. The 
Brigadier put arms about Madame’s neck and said 
something that certainly had a resemblance to 
“Night, night, grandmamma!” Madame declared he 
had been as good as gold, and he glanced meaningly at 
his young mother, as though to remark, “Put that on 
the credit side, if you please.” 

Ethel thought that Phyllis, now in the adjoining 
room, might well consider herself a lucky girl. 
Georgina pointed out that Phyllis had had her troubles. 
Richard suggested that Chard — in coming back at the 
outbreak of the war from the steamer’s first 
stopping place, enlisting in the Coldstream Guards, 
and receiving mortal injury in the fighting near 
La Bassee — had cancelled any grievance his country 
might have had against him. Richard, speaking of 
the Brigadier, said it was rough on the little chap 
to be faced with the prospect of growing up, burdened 
with a title, and no money to enable him to play the 
part suitably. 

“Want to tell you all something about that,” inter- 
posed Madame. “I hope you don’t mind, any of you, 
but I’ve made my will.” 

“P. H.,” said Ethel, “was under the impression you 
had done that years ago. He asked me once, but I 
couldn’t tell him, for certain. I’d got the idea that 
you’d leave everything to Richard.” 

“Please leave me out of this,” ordered Private 
Prince sharply. “What I mean is,” he explained, 


MADAME PRINCE 


315 


“that I can manage for myself. When the trouble’s 
over, I shall come back and earn my own living 
again. Oddly enough, that book of mine, green and 
unripe though it was, went rather well in America. 
I may do better when I’ve had more experience. 
So,” pleadingly, “do understand that I’m to be left 
out of it. I ought, by rights, to be paying back to 
mother every penny I have cost her.” 

“We ought all to do it,” agreed Georgina. 

“There’s a special reason,” he said, “in my case.” 

“Let me talk,” urged Madame, “and let us keep 
to the subject. I didn’t make my will before for the 
very good reason that there was nothing to leave.” 

“How could there be?” remarked Georgina. “Think 
of the expense we put upon you !” 

“But of late I’ve actually been getting on in the 
world. The business here isn’t perhaps quite what 
it was before the war, but we’re doing pretty well, 
and I’ve kept all the girls on. Phyllis — I can say 
this whilst she isn’t here — Phyllis is a help and a 

comfort to me. And her dear baby Well, you 

can see for yourself, can’t you? He’s provided me 
with somebody to care for at a time when I thought 
everyone was too grown up to require my help.” 
Ethel inspected her rings. Georgina rubbed the tip 
of a dusty shoe against her stocking. Richard examined 
the fold of his puttees. “So what I’ve arranged is 
this. The money I leave will go to Phyllis, in trust 
for her boy. It will be, for the great part, money I’ve 
made thanks to Mr. Hilborough’s advice.” 

“P. H.,” said Ethel impressively to the others; “P. 
H., you know, is simply wonderful. Somehow or 
other, he can’t do wrong.” 

“I want you to realise this,” persisted Madame. 
“I don’t wish to think there’ll be any argle-bargleing 
when I’m gone. I wouldn’t like anyone to feel they’d 
been hard done by.” 


316 


MADAME PRINCE 


It was Georgina who took up the duty of giving 
assurances ; Richard, detaching himself from the topic, 
had risen and gone to the window, to snip off one or 
two of the scarlet geraniums that had exhausted 
themselves in the task of giving colour and brightness 
to High Street. Georgina, speaking with the fluency 
that comes to one who has experience in addressing 
meetings, was able to say words to which her elder 
sister nodded a cordial assent. Mother was to under- 
stand that she had a perfect right to dispose of her 
money as she wished ; nothing could be wiser or more 
considerate than the way in which the matter had 
been explained; it was scarcely necessary to say how 
completely the rest agreed with what had been done, 
but if it were considered necessary, here it was, said 
by Georgina and endorsed, she felt sure, by all con- 
cerned. Georgina, arresting a flow of eloquence that 
would have been appropriate to some occasions, but 
not to this, mentioned that she, herself, was exercising 
thrift, and, perhaps, might be able to help in the di- 
rection selected by her mother. 

“And so far as P. H. and myself are concerned,” 
remarked Ethel, following on the same side, “I need 
only point out that we have no children, and our 
money will have to go to somebody. You won’t 
expect me to say more than that, without consulting 
P. H., but I may add that, in a general fashion, what 
I think to-day, he thinks to-morrow.” 

They listened to the sounds coming from the next 
room. The Brigadier, unaware of the good-natured 
conspiracy, was protesting against the ridiculous 
notion of a man being sent off to sleep in the twilight 
of a July evening; Phyllis was singing very softly. 
The notes of indignation weakened. The charm of 
a lullaby began to work. 

“The dear little manikin !” said Madame. 

Richard came from the window to find the 


MADAME PRINCE S17 


group, silent and thoughtful; he made a breezy 
inquiry in regard to Aunt Emma, and in a few 
moments animation had been recalled. Aunt Emma, 
announced Madame, blaming herself for not having 
given the news earlier, had married again, bless you. 
Married the station-master, and had sent a piece of 
wedding-cake, a portion of which, by the by, Georgina 
was to remember to take home to be set under her 
pillow. (“I’d almost as soon eat it,” protested 
Georgina.) The engagement had not been allowed to 
become known, although David, asserted he had got a 
kind of a sort of an impression that there was some- 
thing in the wind, and the vicar declared that to him 
the announcement came as no surprise; the state- 
ments, made after the event, could be taken for what 
they were worth. True, the village noticed that Mrs. 
Lambert paid visits to the booking office, but this 
the village itself did when perturbed by anything 
concerning accounts, or some nice question of spelling. 
Anyway, the station-master sent his resignation into 
headquarters, and the schoolmaster, and one or two 
other authorities, met and decided with reluctance that 
there was no alternative but to organise a testi- 
monial; the idea was taken up with appetite by 
the travelling public because the official had made 
himself in no way beloved by them, and the prospect 
of his departure from the neighbourhood was wel- 
comed. Tunbridge Wells, said some in guessing at 
his future residence; others, more hopeful, suggested 
the far distant St. Leonards. And the money pre- 
sented (after consultation with the recipient, who said, 
emphatically, “Ormulu clock be danged!”), he, 
acknowledging receipt in the waiting-room, gave the 
information — which he evidently expected to be taken 
with rapture — that he proposed to remain in the dis- 
trict, and that they would enjoy the pleasure of his 
friendship and his company for many years to come. 


MADAME PRINCE 


318 


David told Madame, in describing the end of the meet- 
ing, that he had seen many cheerfuller parties at a 
funeral. 

Phyllis returned to announce that the Brigadier 
was well and safe asleep, and discovered everybody in 
the best of spirits. Georgina had two appeals to make : 
might she, in sending out cards on behalf of a club 
for the wives of soldiers and sailors, print the an- 
nouncement that Lady Chard would sing? Why, of 
course ! And could Phyllis be so very kind as to make 
a neat speech, on another date, at a drawing-room 
meeting in Maida Vale ? Phyllis was not so sure about 
this, but said that if the other wrote it out for her, she 
would do her best to learn it, and say it from the plat- 
form like a good, nicely behaved little girl. Georgina 
made a note in her diary, refastened the elastic 
band, and mentioned that she was now compelled 
to go. Ethel said that P. H. would be wondering 
what had become of her. Richard suggested Madame 
should come out with him for a ten minutes’ stroll, 
and the two went arm-in-arm along the side of South 
Grove. Young women, standing at doors, looked on 
enviously. 

“That didn’t depress you, I hope,” he remarked, 
“the business of going to a solicitor. It does with 
some.” 

“Why, no,” answered Madame. “I try not to let 
anything depress me.” 

They were near the reservoir, and he stopped to ex- 
amine a new recruiting poster. 

“Do you know,” he said, resuming the walk, “I’ve 
never quite realised that before. I’ve always been so 
used to seeing you cheerful that it hasn’t occurred to 
me it occasionally meant endeavour. You have gone 
through trying times, mother.” 

“I’ve been well recompensed.’ 

“Don’t quite see where the payment comes in.” 


MADAME PRINCE 


319 


“Look at to-day/’ argued Madame earnestly. “Isn’t 
it worth everything in the world to see my four dear 
young people again ; to have them together in my own 
home, and to guess that to-night they may be thinking 
of me? Oh, my boy, my dear boy, can’t you guess? 
Why I’ve gained over it. It’s been the luckiest of all 
my speculations. If you but knew it, I’m heavily in 
debt to all of you.” 

They walked back quietly. It seemed that neither 
could find any more words to express thoughts. 

“I won’t come upstairs,” he remarked at the street 
door in High Street. “But I shall look in again 
before Dickson and I leave. God bless you, mother !” 

“And you, dear!” 

The Brigadier had been dreaming of parlous and 
disturbing events of a military nature, and Phyllis 
was comforting him with the assurance that Uncle 
Richard, as a great big soldier, would see that no 
harm came to good boys who went off to sleep when 
their mothers told them to do so. Madame, whilst 
this was taking place, found in her writing desk the 
locked book. There were many recent entries under 
the heading of Richard; there were some in the 
section devoted to Phyllis. In all the four she now 
wrote in a manner as firmly as ever, a few lines; the 
last one was blurred by the falling of a tear that came 
from the well of happiness. This done, and unwilling 
to disturb the success of peace arguments in the ad- 
joining room, she took up a fashion journal. 
It was one of her few boasts that she could still com- 
prehend the printed word without the aid of glasses. 
The drawing of a haughty young woman had, for 
explanation, the words, “A turn back collar of sheer 
organdy.” 

“ ‘Skirts will be slightly fuller,’ ” she read. “ ‘Hats 
are not likely to err on the side of immensity.’ ” A 
belated newsboy went along High Street shouting 


320 


MADAME PRINCE 


an item of war news, and Madame listened. Then she 
turned again to the fashion journal. “ Tn regard to 
furs for the coming winter, much might be said. Foot- 
wear promises to undergo no great changes. On the 
other hand, gloves 5 ” 


THE END. 







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